


Stories of the Street

by thegrumblingirl



Series: assassins don't take sides [5]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Dishonored 2, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Drama, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, a coup a coup what is it to you?, ding dong the witch is back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 99,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: Why do we celebrate the anniversary of an assassination? Fifteen years ago, in the middle of a plague that nearly destroyed Dunwall, conspirators and murderers assaulted the palace where I was born and shot my mother in the heart. In the aftermath, the men who sent the assassin wanted to use me as a pawn in a game of power; but, together, Corvo and Daud hunted them down and cut their conspiracy to pieces.All these years later, am I the ruler my mother wanted me to be?Take back what's yours.Sequel toThe Letters.eBooks:Vol. 1—Vol. 2Spotify playlist.





	1. Prologue: The Prelude to a Coup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They know what's coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you do, fellow kids! It's my birthday, and as is custom among Hobbits, you're the ones getting the presents ;)
> 
> This is the Prologue to Part 5! And then, there's two more quick sneak peeks until the story picks up properly at the end of the month. As you can see by the chapter count, this thing is going to be a monster — which is why I'll update weekly at the very least, and some weeks twice.
> 
> This is how Dishonored 2 happens according to my AU — a lot of changes that caused small ripples at the time are really making waves now. I've also taken numerous liberties with the rest of the plot, to make everything tighter and our dear protags a little less passive. They have a plan, guys. A PLAN.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you'll enjoy this sneak peek, and I'll see you in a few weeks for the story proper!
> 
> xoxo,  
> Andrea
> 
> Soundtrack: [Stories of the Street, by Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOnFiCf5wB4&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=64&t=0s).

> **_Emily Kaldwin’s Personal Diary_ **
> 
> _Month of Earth, 1952_
> 
> _Why do we celebrate the anniversary of an assassination? Fifteen years ago, in the middle of a plague that nearly destroyed Dunwall, conspirators and murderers assaulted the palace where I was born and shot my mother in the heart. In the aftermath, the men who_ _’d_ _sent the assassin_ _s_ _wanted to use me as a pawn in a game of power_ _; but the one that was supposed to destroy my life turned out to be just as fierce of a protector_ _. Th_ _ose who were reaching for control over Gristol_ _would have succeeded but, together, Corvo and Daud hunted them down and cut their conspiracy to pieces._ _Driven into hiding, my father protected me until it was time to return to the Tower — to take my seat on the throne my mother left behind. I know how my crown was won: at the tip of a sword and words whispered in the dark. People disappeared, others were imprisoned. And at the end of it all, just when we thought we were safe, a witch set out to steal my likeness and enslave my spirit to her magic. Defeating her nearly cost us Daud — nearly cost him everything._
> 
> _So much has been done to secure my throne, and now,_ _we face a new crisis. A monster the papers are calling the Crown Killer has been picking off my enemies, and dressing it up like my father and I are responsible. I don’t know whether to get on a ship and sail to the opposite side of the world, or to have everyone around me executed._
> 
> _All these years later, am I the ruler my mother wanted me to be?_

*

For weeks now, they’d been waiting. Tensions with Serkonos had become nigh unbearable, and every proof had been laid out before them that Luca would challenge Emily today ever since he had announced his attendance at the memorial to celebrate her mother’s reign and life. It had been too late then to request postponing an official state’s visit; it had been too late to sabotage the journey. The Crown had spies in Karnaca, but not at the Grand Palace: the Duke was even more suspicious of anyone on his guest list than Waverly Boyle had ever been. Anyone remotely suspected of being a friend of Empress Emily Kaldwin was shunned; and the nobles of Serkonos, sadly especially those loyal to the Crown, were terrible liars.

And so they received word that morning, from Whalers skulking around the docks, that Luca had brought a large entourage indeed — including crates marked with the seal ‘Jindosh Clockworks.’ Emily shuddered just to think about it. They’d _known_ Jindosh had to be building the clankers, as they were spitefully called down in Karnaca, for the Duke; and they had indeed not discounted the possibility of them being used to wage a war. They had, however, not been willing to place their bets on Luca bringing them directly to Dunwall.

Now, it seemed they better had been.

Corvo had brought the warning to Emily immediately; and together with Daud, Alexi, and Martha Cottings, they’d stood around his desk, running the odds. Emily spent the hours before the memorial not in her own quarters, but in Corvo and Daud’s chambers, waiting for the clock to strike the hour when her appearance before courtiers and the people of her city would be expected. Pacing, she wished she could be anywhere but here.

“We let him bring them,” Emily pronounced into the quiet. Daud drew breath to speak, but Emily raised a hand and, to her mild surprise, he held his peace. “I don’t want these things loose on the streets. If they’re doing damage anywhere, it’s here, where we can control them, or at least attempt to.”

“Emily,” Corvo began, but Emily impatiently shook her head.

“You won’t let me send more than a third of the Whalers out into the district to protect the citizens; you want them and Alexi here to protect _me_. If I’m placing that kind of burden on my people, I should draw the threat towards me, not shaft it on them.”

“We’re with you,” Daud said then, drawing her gaze towards him. “But you must be sure. There is no room for error in this.”

“This is my city,” Emily told him, a chill drawing down her spine at the severity of the decision she was making; at the feeling of absolute responsibility she felt in that moment. “I will not hand it to them.” Then, she reached across Corvo’s desk for that morning’s edition of the Courier. “This,” she gestured, “was by design.”

> **_Crown Killer Strikes Again!_ **
> 
> _Dunwall citizens express shock and fear as yet another outspoken critic of Empress Emily Kaldwin has met with a violent demise. The latest victim is none other than Ichabod Boyle, notable entrepreneur and supporter of the arts._
> 
> _Boyle recently wrote an opinion piece harshly criticizing the Empress for what he called her ‘slipshod style of governance’ and her ‘willful neglect of duties.’ Authorities are convinced the Crown Killer is the culprit, given the gruesome details left at the crime scene._
> 
> _As Her Majesty's most outspoken adversaries fall one by one to this notorious assassin, we boldly ask: Is it now the duty of the Royal Protector to murder all who dare oppose the Throne?_ _Or is the Crown Killer someone else altogether — someone from the past come back to haunt those who would see to it that the Kaldwin line_ _should_ _end_ _now, when the capital celebrates the late Jessamine Kaldwin, mother to Emily and Empress to us all_ _?_

“Luca will use this as a springboard to try and depose you,” Daud nodded. “But if it’s only this, we can fight it.”

“Only this? _Only_ a cannibalistic killer traipsing across the Empire, striking off my enemies and framing my father for the deed? A killer we have not been able to apprehend for years? _Only that?_ ” Emily looked away, pulling herself together. Her gaze crossed with Corvo’s, who sent her a warning glance.

“The mines are collapsing on themselves,” Cottings interjected then. “He could just be getting desperate.“

Daud weighed his head. “It’s possible, but even so he’s pushing too fast too far for there not to be something else.“ At Emily’s questioning glance, he nodded at Corvo. “The Clockworks. He brought them, today, even though we know Jindosh is not yet capable of manufacturing them _en masse_. There’s only one answer to the question why, and it’s this: he means to see you dead within the week.”

Emily sighed, exchanging a glance with Alexi. She couldn’t but be grateful that Wyman had taken her persistent requests at face value and stayed in Morley instead of coming to Dunwall for the memorial. Emily would much rather know them safe and worry about the newspapers’ speculation on rifts in their relationship later. As Captain of the Tower Guard, Alexi could not — would not — leave; and as much as Emily nearly wished she could make her, she felt all the more safe with her by her side.

“Last line of defence,“ Corvo said quietly. “Daud, you will guard Emily’s chambers. Alexi, go and join him after accompanying Emily to the throne room; go into the safe room if you must. Emily and I will greet Luca, the ungrateful bastard. Thomas and Rinaldo will be among the guards, the remaining Whalers will be stationed on the Tower grounds and out in the district. Cottings, I trust you to lead them and keep the city safe.”

Cottings nodded. “You have my word, sir.“

Emily took a deep breath. “First line of defence: the Empress and her Royal Protector. Just as it should be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Emily's diary entry adapted from her voice-over at the beginning of the game.  
> b) The Crown Killer Strikes Again! adapted from the in-game version and spruced up a bit: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Crown_Killer_Strikes_Again!  
> c) So they think Luca's coming to Dunwall to try and challenge the Throne.............  
> d) Emily's making the tough choices now and I'm so proud of her.  
> e) IT FEELS SO GOOD NOT TO BE WRITING INTO THE VOID ANYMORE!!!


	2. The Royal Protector In Our Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter of Attano's life leading up to Empress Emily Kaldwin’s coronation is like something out of a legend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we're starting in on the action properly, here's another of my lore rewrites — Previously on Dishonored: CSI Dunwall. I love rewriting existing lore to fit the AU I've built; mostly because I love the lore of _Dishonored_. There's such attention to detail in everything, I like to return the favour.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Iron, by Woodkid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRm3vYF2BQw&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=64).

**Corvo Attano,** **t** **he Royal Protector in Our Times**

Much has been written about the position of Royal Protector since the institution of the title. Contrary to the office of the Royal Spymaster, which came to prominence mainly following the Morley Insurrection, the title of Protector has always been one of the most prestigious at Court. The Royal Protector spends every waking moment in the company of the most powerful ruler in the Empire; and in their duties are given enormous latitude in order to keep the Crown and their family safe from harm. Royal Protectors have died pursuing their calling: good men and women, willing to give their lives for the ones they swore to protect; even if that sacrifice might not always prove enough. The assassination of Empress Larisa Olaskir was a tragic event indeed.

No Royal Protector was ever simply chosen from the rank and file. The first to occupy the position, Captain Lancelot Heronshaw, practically appointed himself as the guardian of Emperor Hurien Morgengaard and his wife Alyssa during a time of civil unrest, by acting as their bodyguard and living with them at Dunwall Tower. Heronshaw was a highly decorated officer and served his Emperor and Consort faithfully until his death in 1695. The Morgengaards survived him by six years, with Heronshaw’s son from his first marriage appointed as his successor. Since the beginning of Yefim Olaskir’s reign and the birth of his daughter Zolana, it was then custom that every new ruler would choose their bodyguard from the ranks of the Gristolian army and, following its foundation in 1809, Dunwall’s City Watch. Suitable candidates are presented by the Captain of the Watch and the army’s generals; some may apply, others may be approached for the position.

It was perhaps something of an accident by which Corvo Attano, arrived from Karnaca only months before after being sent off to Dunwall by Duke Theodanis Abele, found himself considered for the task; no doubt on the orders of Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin himself, who maintained a friendly relationship with the erstwhile ruler of Serkonos. The Duke had sent Attano to Dunwall with his compliments and, if rumours were to be believed, implicit recommendations to keep him close for the sake of Emperor Kaldwin’s family; especially his young daughter. Considering that Duke Theodanis could have easily kept Attano in his own service, if he was indeed as skilled, many doubted the young soldier’s merits when he first set foot in the Tower; no matter the medals pinned to his chest.

Very little is publicly known about Corvo Attano’s childhood and upbringing. His parents were older at the time of his birth, and his father died in a lumber accident outside the city when Corvo was still young. It is believed that around that time his only sibling, a first-born sister, moved away to Morley and the family subsequently lost all contact with her. Everything changed when, only sixteen years old, Corvo dazzled the people of Karnaca when he entered and won the annual Blade Verbena. Spectators from all over Serkonos were thrilled to see someone so young and striking, from a working class family, advance through duel after duel, eventually taking the prize. This unexpected outcome secured Corvo a junior officer ranking in the Grand Serkonan Guard.

As a soldier, he was involved in a number of conflicts against organised criminal groups, rogue city states, and pirate bands along the chain of islands radiating east from Serkonos. Sent from his homeland at the age of eighteen by the Duke, Corvo was assigned to serve the Emperor in Dunwall as a diplomatic gift. His Serkonan heritage made him a bit of an outsider in Dunwall, but the capital city must have seemed exotic and full of old-world mystery. A few months after he moved to Dunwall, it is recorded that Corvo received word that his mother had passed away several weeks after his departure from Karnaca. It is unrecorded whether Attano received leave to return to Karnaca to arrange for her funeral.

A year later, he was put forth as a candidate to serve as Royal Protector to the Emperor’s daughter. In what Parliament and the royal court at the time viewed as an act of rebellion, young Jessamine Kaldwin did indeed choose Corvo, making him the youngest Royal Protector in history at nineteen years old. He served her loyally as a bodyguard, courier and some say spy, before and after she was crowned Empress. Though it was scandalous gossip, it is said they began a love affair around 1823, when Jessamine was eighteen and Corvo twenty-five. Their romantic involvement was a terribly-kept court secret in the following years, and thus it was widely held that the baby born in 1827 was their daughter — confirmed, of course, when Corvo publicly acknowledged Lady Emily as his child some years ago; to coincide with her taking on the full responsibility of the Crown when she came of age.

The chapter of Attano's life leading up to Empress Emily Kaldwin’s coronation is like something out of a legend.

During the Time of the Rat Plague, Empress Jessamine Kaldwin fell victim to an outrageous plot against her life; revealing a conspiracy that, much like the Plague, had ruthlessly infected nearly all of Dunwall. When the Empress fell, Attano was accused of regicide and working with a gang of assassins led by the infamous heretic Daud. Together, they fled — or so Hiram Burrows, the engineer of the plot would have had historians believe — and Attano was hunted and publicly reviled. He evaded the City Watch and the Overseers successfully for nigh on a year, and as part of a small conspiracy dedicated to preventing Burrows from taking power, the Royal Protector struck back at the people who murdered the Empress. After the former Royal Spymaster fell, the Loyalists returned Emily Kaldwin, Jessamine’s rightful heir, to the throne. To this day, it is not entirely clear who, exactly, was part of this Loyalist conspiracy; as only very few names were confirmed by Attano himself during his testimony before Gristol’s Parliament. Equally, the assassin known as the Knife of Dunwall was said to have disappeared; and any involvement in the events leading up to and following Empress Jessamine’s death could never be proven.

During those dark months when the truth remained hidden from us and the Empress, then Princess, herself was sheltered from those who would harm her by Attano and his allies, among them names such as Curnow, Havelock, and Sokolov, it was proven that perhaps it needed not an army, but a few good men to decide the fate of an Empire. Following his daughter’s return to Dunwall Tower, Attano watched over Emily as she began to rule the Empire of the Isles; and still serves as both her Royal Protector and Spymaster, unifying the two positions in the same office. Over the years, many a crisis has been weathered by them and the Empress’ royal council, not least among them the attempt made on her life by Burrows’ supporters when she was only fourteen years old. For nearly fifteen years now, Emily has been ruling the Empire, with her father and protector by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Adapted from in-game lore: <http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Corvo_Attano,_The_Royal_Protector_In_Our_Times,_Part_01> and <http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Corvo_Attano,_The_Royal_Protector_In_Our_Times,_Part_02>
> 
> b) I chose Hurien Morgengaard as the first Emperor with a Royal Protector because I went looking for patterns: For about a decade before his taking the throne, Emperors were dropping like flies every couple of years. He made it for nearly thirty years of rule after that, so it stands to reason he was smart and got himself a bodyguard. As ever, none of these details would make sense without our trusty [Timeline](http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline).  
> c) And yes, I gave Lancelot (heh) the OT3 he deserved. (Dishonored just makes it too easy.) Heronshaw, for anyone who hasn't read The Corroded Man, is a lake north of Dunwall, where the royal family keeps a residence, apparently. (Not that any of these people have ever heard of taking a damn holiday.) So there's my cheeky nod to Lancelot du Lac (fr; of the lake).
> 
> d) There's totally a point to this going on and on about how shrouded in mystery much of Corvo's life is.... *cough cough*
> 
> e) Except, you know, for the bit where he was making hearty eyes at the Empress and absolutely **everybody** knew.


	3. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minutes before Jessamine's memorial is set to begin, Corvo receives a warning from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so cloooosssseeee I can practically taste the nasty surprise. On August 31, we'll pick up right where Corvo leaves off here.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Escape Artist, by Zoë Keating](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ufe2JtYqZI&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=65).

> _Corvo,_
> 
> _It will surprise you to hear that I have returned to Dunwall, but — here I am._
> 
> _Things have become worse than expected since my last letter, much worse. Nothing has been done to see Sokolov recovered, and Jindosh has been suspiciously quiet these past few weeks. The months before that, there were newspaper articles nearly every day; he was either holding auctions or publicly inviting_ _the rich and infamous_ _into his mansion to show off his damn metal soldiers. Now, it’s as though he’s shut himself up in there and won’t come out until he’s found a way to produce one of those things per hour._
> 
> _When Duke Abele announced his decision to travel to Dunwall for the memorial_ _held in Emily’s mother’s honour_ _, I decided to follow — I would have left before them, but I was held up on business in Cullero. Otherwise, I might have made it here a few days earlier. Hearing the news of Ichabod Boyle’s murder, I almost wish I had, even if the man was a prick and a liar. The last time Luca Abele came to Dunwall, he lost someone dear to him. Perhaps this time, he’d like to return the favour._
> 
> _I’ve been hearing whispers, whispers that I dare not lay out in a letter anyone might intercept. I’m not sure if it’s even true, but if I’m right, then you are all in grave danger. You have to come down to see me before the ceremony begins, if you can. If not… send Daud, if you must._
> 
> _All the boats are being sent away from the docks, but I'll delay as long as I can. My ship is called the Dreadful Wale._
> 
> _— Meagan Foster_

* * *

Corvo folded the note back up and slipped it into one of the pockets of his coat. The message — request, order, warning — had reached him too late. It was only half an hour until the memorial, he could not expend either himself or Daud, nor one of the Whalers. And besides, even if he could, they would not be back in time to pass on whatever _whispers_ Foster — Lurk — had heard. Waiting for Emily’s entrance, Corvo exchanged glances with Rinaldo, Thomas, and Curnow. Curnow was keeping close to High Overseer Khulan, subtly, but he too had received orders — not from Corvo, who could do little but make requests; but from the Empress herself. Jameson should have been here, too, but he had opted to keep an eye out in the Tower District; to run interference, should the guards travelling with Luca that were now stationed out on the streets start harassing citizens. His uncle, then, was to see to the High Overseer’s safety. Just in case. Behind him, Captain Ramsey was standing with his hands clasped at his back.

In all the preparation, Corvo had never even thought of that fateful day so many years ago. Of course, the city had been in an uproar after Radanis Abele’s death. The City Watch had been sent out, Grand Guard had even come up from Serkonos to help find the culprit; but investigations had proved fruitless. Meagan’s memory certainly proved long in matters that Corvo himself had been only superficially acquainted with at the time — it being a matter of international diplomacy, Burrows had handled the search for the murderer and all communication. Jessamine had merely been expected to write to express the Crown’s condolences on Theodanis’ loss. Corvo frowned at how easily he’d let himself be kept apart from the investigation then. But as it was, contemplating it now was purely academic.

Corvo suppressed a sigh. Every year, he hoped the anniversary of Jessamine’s death might become… not easier, but more _possible_ to bear. It never did. He’d spent the previous night locked in a tight embrace, Daud wrapped around him as though making sure nothing separated them would keep everything else away; including the burden they carried down with them from the Void. The knowledge that Jessamine’s spirit had only found peace after Daud’s return from the abyss, leveraged, _bargained_ for with nothing but a still-beating Heart; a soul trapped in wires and glass and dead flesh. She had named it a cage, and so it had been, but for so long, her voice had been Corvo’s only comfort.

Now, he had a portrait to look at, a tombstone to lay roses at her feet, and a daughter who looked more like her mother with every passing day.

He knew of Emily’s struggle with her mother’s memory: her expectations, her _hopes_. Jessamine’s entreaty to her child had been to remain curious and kind; in a world that wasn’t kind to little girls, or empresses. Jessamine had taught Emily persistence, Callista had taught her poise; and Corvo and Daud had taught her how to put men twice her size on their backs before having their guts for garters. No-one had taught her how to govern, or how to be loved by her people. She’d discovered the secret to the latter on her own, but the first Corvo knew she feared would remain a mystery for too many of her days. If Luca did indeed attempt to overthrow the Throne today, Corvo mused, she would need to draw upon _all_ of her skills.

Finally, the doors opened, revealing Alexi first; Emily striding inside behind her.

Come what may, now. They had to stay the course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Adapted from Meagan's letter that Alexi gives Corvo just before she dies: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Audience_Request  
> b) Now, is it a good sign that Corvo receives it just before the ceremony.... :thinking: emoji  
> c) Everything's in place... now the plan just has to go terribly, terribly wrong.  
> d) I'm so exciteedddddd aaaaAAAHHHHHHH — I finished writing Chapter 15 this week and omgggg every time I start a new one I think 'aaahhh now here comes the good stuff,' but then I remember that there's MORE


	4. Chapter One — The Stories of the Street are Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Loyal subjects,“ her voice rang out steady and clear. “We are going through a difficult time; as Dunwall always seems to when occasions such as these draw near. But today, we honour my mother, the late Jessamine Kaldwin. May her memory survive through the ages, and her heart never be forgotten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. FINALLY. Oh god it's finally happening. Everybody be cool. (I need to lie down. I NEED A NAP. I cannot believe the last time I was posting weekly I was also travelling back and forth for work and editing in hotel rooms. GOD. I'm getting old.)
> 
> Bonus: Chapter Two is coming on Monday!!
> 
> Corvo: Corvo, by Daniel Licht.  
> Delilah: Ain’t No Grave, by Renée Elise Goldsberry.

_Finally, the door_ _s_ _opened, revealing Alexi first; Emily striding inside behind her._

_Come what may, now. They had to stay the course._

From Corvo’s blind spot, Ramsey emerged, having waited so patiently for his cue.

“All hail Her Imperial Majesty, Emily Kaldwin,” he announced to the assembled courtiers and politicians.

Corvo watched as Emily stepped forward, Alexi exiting swiftly as all eyes were drawn towards the Empress; and as Emily steeled herself for one last moment before addressing the crowd.

“Loyal subjects,“ her voice rang out steady and clear. “We are going through a difficult time; as Dunwall always seems to when occasions such as these draw near. But today, we honour my mother, the late Jessamine Kaldwin. May her memory survive through the ages, and her heart never be forgotten.”

Nods of heads could be seen, ladies’ voluminous hats bobbing with the weight of their approval, and pleased murmurs — no-one applauded, as that would have been in poor taste. Corvo met Emily as she began walking towards the dais and her throne.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” Emily told him quietly, holding her head high and nodding at courtiers as she passed them.

“Which part,” Corvo asked _sotto voce_ , “dealing with a room full of toadies or averting a political coup?”

“Father,” Emily chided, frowning but something in her eyes telling him that she enjoyed the relief of being able to be open about their connection in public now. Even if the far reaches of their… somewhat unconventional family still had to be kept secret; they had been given this. They were father and daughter in the eyes of the world, and Corvo hadn’t known how much it had truly burdened his soul until he had officially acknowledged Emily as his child. Corvo Attano was still the figure of mystery at the Empress’ side — he was not given to displays of fatherly pride and affection during council meetings, and the mask he’d forged while standing at Jessamine’s shoulder was still his to wear. But he was more now than the stranger who had hidden Emily away during the Plague and after her mother’s assassination; more than the foreigner they barely tolerated to be the Empress’s Protector. Now, he was the foreigner they barely tolerated to be the Empress’s father. And together, they laid down roses at Jessamine’s portrait, today’s tribute to their loss.

“Your Highness,” Yul Khulan approached them after Emily had taken a moment to collect herself. “I wish you well on this day. May you mother’s memory guide you, and may your spirit find the balance you seek between the past, the present, and the future.”

“Thank you, High Overseer,” Emily thanked him warmly, shaking his hand. Over the years, Yul had become a valuable advisor, and a friend. Corvo and Daud may still dread every interaction with the Abbey, and he had never forgotten Daud’s warning of the sisters of the Oracular Order; but Khulan had never once wavered in his alliance with Emily. She greeted Curnow, too, who put a hand on her shoulder in support. Curnow had taken everything Corvo had thrown at him without so much as a ‘by your leave’ in the years after Jessamine’s death; and now he was one of Emily’s most trusted allies, not least through his connection with Thomas. They were lucky to count him among their friends.

Emily, now settled upon her throne, spent some time receiving the nobles who had come to attend the memorial, accepting their condolences, well wishes, and expressions of concern as well — for Dunwall, for the Empire. Corvo stood to her right, as any Lord Protector should and as few fathers could. The courtiers did their best to pay him no mind; but a few, such as Lady Helmswater and Lord Brackenthorpe, did address him after speaking to their Empress, thanking him for his service and delivering condolences that most in this room, albeit loyal to Emily Kaldwin, should have liked to forget he was rightly owed for what he’d lost. With the life bleeding from Jessamine’s eyes, a light had gone out in Corvo’s, and it had taken years — years, and a very persistent man with just as much to lose — for him to find it again.

Just as another aristocrat stepped away from the dais, Ramsey made his presence known from where he’d taken up his position at the Empress’ left.

“Your Majesty, before we begin the day’s observances, we have, of course, one more visitor to welcome: the Duke of Serkonos.”

“Ramsey says the Duke is bringing special gifts,” Corvo interjected. Half an hour after the Whalers had come to Corvo with the warning, Ramsey had introduced himself to his chambers — Daud, Emily, Alexi, and Cottings already gone — and spoken of a ‘surprise’ the Duke wanted to present to Emily, but had claimed not to know what it was.

As if on cue, the heavy doors to the throne room opened.

“His Grace Duke Luca Abele of Serkonos,” Ramsey called out over the noise in the room. The guests immediately stood from their chairs, but startled, a few even jumping back in alarm, when they became aware of _what_ was coming through those doors along with their honoured visitor.

Luca walked in front, a palanquin not unlike the ones Corvo had heard the Duke liked to travel in carried by guards of the Serkonan Grand Guard behind him, and by his side — Clockwork Soldiers. Two of them. Corvo felt dread adding to the leaden weight in his stomach. The Whalers’ reports had spoken of _four_.

“Metal soldiers. Amazing,” he heard Emily force herself to say, doing her best to sound surprised; but he recognised the undercurrent of alarm in her voice, echoing his own. The doors closed, the hollow thud of it ringing in Corvo’s ears. This was it, now. They were trapped, with soldiers made of metal at least four heads taller than him and deadlier than anything he’d ever seen. And he had no idea how to fight them.

Yet.

On the other side of the dais, Curnow shifted closer to the High Overseer.

“What is this, Ramsey,“ Corvo remembered to protest. “I didn’t authorise those things.“ It was a ruse, of course — they could have ordered the City Watch to force Luca to leave his ‘gifts’ at the docks, but Emily’s decision had been designed to let Luca think he’d gotten away with it. It was the first order of subterfuge: to let your enemy believe themselves to possess the advantage. The Clockworks stopped a few yards away from the throne, raising their blades along with the guards, who’d drawn their swords for a guard of honour. Corvo had seen drawings of the Clockworks after the first auction, albeit no schematics; but up close and in all their four-armed glory, they set his teeth on edge. He clenched his jaw. What was the saying — fore-armed was forewarned? These things definitely were.

At length, Corvo’s gaze settled on Luca. He’d taken after his father in height and build, but what struck Corvo was the difference in expression. Theodanis had always seemed open and benevolent — Luca, make no mistake, looked like a conniving rat. His eyes were small and his face pinched, it held nothing of the kindness his father had shown everyone under his rule.

Behind Luca, the palanquin was lowered to the ground. And then, unfortunately, he began to speak.

“Your Imperial Majesty! And, of course, Royal Protector Corvo Attano, a native of our homeland. Serkonos offers condolences on this sorrowful day, and gifts to remind you of our nation, the rising star on the Southern horizon.“ As Luca passed the guard of honour, his soldiers and the Clockworks lowered their swords. Eventually, Luca stopped at the foot of the dais, lowering himself to one knee in supposed supplication.

Corvo held in a scoff. Liar.

“We thank you, Your Grace,” Emily responded as protocol dictated.

The Duke rose. “Save your thanks,” he answered magnanimously, “for now I give you the greatest gift of all: family.” Corvo frowned. What could he possibly..? As Luca spoke, he turned towards the palanquin. “I present to you the lost sister of Jessamine Kaldwin. Your rightful Empress, Delilah Kaldwin.”

“Impossible,” was all Corvo could say, could _think_. This couldn’t be—

From the palanquin descended a woman.

A witch.

_No._

“Her _sister_?” Corvo heard Emily breathe. “Corvo—”

“My dearest niece,” Delilah addressed the Throne as she sauntered closer — and saunter she did, as though she had never left the world, as though she had never been sent into the Void by her own damned ritual. Corvo felt panic rise in his chest, closing up his throat and sending his heart into a surge. He fought to keep a level head, to _think_. They could have taken Luca, they could have even taken the Clockworks. But _this_? If Delilah had found a way to return, she was too powerful now to fathom. He and Daud had tried to cage her, had believed it to be possible; but now she’d broken out. There was no time to think on how. Only that he had to do it again. Fighting Delilah would only end one way, Corvo realised with startling clarity. In a pool of blood. Hers — or his own. No cage, this time.

 _Fine_ , he thought. _So be it_.

“It’s not true,“ he called, to settle the room and himself. Jessamine, she would have known — she would have _told him_.

“My father was Emperor Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin,“ Delilah declared, and Corvo shuddered at the familiar, distorted quality of her voice. It was stronger now than it had been; the Void echoed within her, in her eyes and the sallow of her skin. Something had happened to her there. There was something she’d _done_ to make it so. “Jessamine was my younger sister. At the time of her death I wasn’t ready to make myself known to the people of Dunwall, I was forced to leave the city. But now I’m home.” She turned and spread her arms, as if welcoming _her_ subjects to a new world. A new Empire.

 _Never_.

“If you really are my mother’s sister, you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Emily said. Corvo quickly glanced over to her. She’d gone pale, but she sat up straight and looked her ‘aunt’ — that _witch_ that had once threatened to tear her soul from her body and replace it with her own — right in the eye, unflinching.

“Little sparrow, blackened by bad memories,” Delilah replied, coming closer. Corvo had to fight his instinct to step in front of Emily at her approach. “I’m here to relieve you of your crown. My father’s promise, whispered in secret so many years ago, is finally fulfilled.”

“Watch your tongue,” Corvo couldn’t stop himself, stepping up. Delilah’s gaze locked with his, disdain twisting her features briefly before she schooled them back into a cold smile. “Emily Kaldwin is the daughter of _Empress_ Jessamine Kaldwin, and rightful heir to the throne.”

“Royal Protector,” Delilah drawled, daring to raise a hand to touch his cheek. He knocked her arm away, disgusted by the coldness of her touch; and her eyes turned to hatred before she swivelled on her heel again. “How naive to think you could get away with these murders.” She waved a sanctimonious hand at Emily, whose fingers were tightening on the arms of _her_ throne. She was barely keeping herself in check, and Corvo felt much the same. “Living in my palace has protected you, but that’s over.“ Delilah completed her circuit of the dais and addressed the crowd. “Hear me, all of you: your rightful Empress has returned.”

“All hail the Empress Delilah, first of her name!“ Luca called; and as the Clockworks turned and readied their blades, panicked shouts rose from the guests. “Arrest Emily Kaldwin and her father for the Crown Killer murders!“

Corvo reached for his sword — and for the Void. It wasn’t a choice, in that moment; no consideration for witnesses, not even the High Overseer standing no ten feet away. The secret he’d kept for so many years — he did not care if it came to light today. The only thing that mattered was his daughter’s life. He bent time, and growled: “Move.”

Emerging from behind the throne, Thomas and Rinaldo nodded. “Boss.”

Corvo looked back at Emily, frozen in place in her seat, her eyes wide and her mouth opened on a snarl of protest. Then, he blinked. Uncaring of mana drain, he tore past reality through the throne room, knocking Luca’s guards unconscious with the force of a punch, uncaring if he broke their jaws. Misha and Galia had pushed through the doors at the first sounds of commotion, and between the five of them, they had the guards taken care of within moments. But the Clockworks—

“We need to get everyone out,” Corvo barked just before the Void unwound inside him and reality crashed into them. Knowing now how it felt, he paid it no heed and lunged forward — into Delilah, sword first. Putting all his strength behind his blade, he plunged it deep into her heart.

She laughed in his face.

Behind him, he heard Emily, grunting as she struggled. _Ramsey_. Before Corvo could turn to rectify his mistake, he felt his legs and torso ensnared by vines. Blood briar, he realised. He had not missed those things.

“Father!” Emily’s shout reached his ears past the pounding of his pulse. He struggled, but the hold the vines had on him was too strong.

“No sword can still my heart,” Delilah said as she drew Pathmaker from her ribcage without so much as a flinch. Then, she reached out her hand and Corvo, trapped whole inside the Briar, was torn down into incandescent pain as she drew something out of him — his powers. His _Mark_. It burnt, it ached, and then — it was gone. The vines released and Corvo tumbled to the floor, feeling empty, feeling… cold.

Emily, pushed forward by Ramsey, who was bleeding from the nose, _good_ , reached for him. “Father.”

“I-I lost,“ he began, but couldn’t continue. The pain was too strong. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas, leaning forward, gasping, raising his sword just in time to block one of the Clockworks’ attacks to protect the citizens cowering at his back.

Delilah tossed Corvo’s sword away — to Ramsey.

“I should cast you in cold marble,” she hissed, twirling her fingers as if calling the magic to her hand. “But it’s no fun if there’s only two of you. Find Daud,“ she commanded Ramsey. “He has to be hiding somewhere, so bring him to me. I want his head on a spike, and _then_ we can have our celebration.“

“No!” Corvo grunted and, knowing better, tried to rise.

“Corvo Attano,” Delilah stepped closer, confident that he was no threat to her, and it set his blood to _boil_. “How handsome you are, for a man of your age. I’m sure your beloved assassin would agree with me — as for the Outsider, I’m not so sure, but now that you have lost His Mark, you can expect Him to find you less… fascinating.“

“He finds us _interesting_ , witch,” Corvo growled at her. “Although how He ever saw anything in _you_ , I have no idea.”

Sneering at him, Delilah turned her attention to Emily, held in check by a Clockwork’s blade at her throat. Corvo fought not to look.

“Sweet girl. Over time, you’ll come to love me. Perhaps someday you’ll see me as the mother you lost. But until then, you’ll be kept out of trouble.”

Ramsey stepped up. “I’ll lock Lady Emily in her chambers, then bring her to Coldridge Prison until her trial. What about Attano?”

“Strip him of his weapons, then toss him into a room upstairs until you have found the old Knife. He’s of no use to anyone like this, nor his _Whalers_. It’s only Daud we have to worry about now.”

Corvo exchanged one last glance with Emily. Then, the world went black.

* * *

 

“So now I wear this uniform, and I send twenty-year-olds out to patrol the Rose Gardens, instead of drinking with the men from the Shooting Club,” Daud had to listen to Ramsey gripe as he came down the hallway towards Emily’s private chambers. Through the crack in the door, he saw why the captain’s breathing was so laboured — he was carrying Emily, unconscious, over his shoulder. Alexi started forward, but Daud held her back with an iron grip on her elbow. Now was not the time. Behind Ramsey, two Serkonan guards were dragging someone else between them — Corvo. Daud ground his teeth.

“Shut him up inside the Empress’ chambers. I’ll take his spawn into her study and lock her in there,“ Ramsey ordered.

Daud reacted by urging Alexi away from the door, to hide and watch as the guards lugged Corvo inside, then dropped him on the floor. They left, and Daud heard them being ordered by Ramsey to stand guard outside. _Alright_ , Daud decided. _Their bad luck_ _— later_ _._ He opened the door wide enough to see where they were going: one guard was out in the hallway, the other was walking down the stairs. Satisfied that the one outside would be distracted by grumbling to himself and smoking, Daud finally let himself move towards Corvo.

Face-down on the floor, he was unconscious, a nasty bruise blooming on his temple. Ramsey must have knocked him out with his _heel_ , Daud realised with a snarl. Carefully and with Alexi’s help, he turned him over. He looked pale, drained — but he was breathing, he was alive. Daud patted his cheek.

“Corvo,” he rumbled quietly. “Corvo, wake up.” Corvo was like a damned bloodox — nothing kept him down for long. When he still wouldn’t react, Daud decided to dispense with the pleasantries and instead _lightly_ thumped his fist on Corvo’s chest. “Corvo!”

With a start, Corvo’s eyes sprang open and he jerked upright so fast Daud barely had the chance to move away to avoid their heads knocking together. “Emily,” Corvo gasped. Then, his gaze focused on Daud. “Daud. Alexi. It’s—”

“I know,” Daud interrupted. “I know. I was listening.”

Corvo’s gaze darkened. “You were supposed to—“

“And I didn’t, so now at least you can spare yourself the explanations and I’ve had some time to stop feeling like the Void just shot me in the gut,“ Daud returned and put his hand on Corvo’s arm, squeezing gently to take some of the sting out of his words. “We have no time. We need to get to Emily.“

“They took her into the study. I’ll get the key from the guard,” Alexi said, and was about to move when a noise came from the open window.

“Or she can get to you, while you’re still talking about it,” Emily grunted as she heaved herself through. “Have these idiots learnt nothing,” she muttered with disgust.

“Emily!” Alexi stood to meet her. “Are you alright?“ They embraced, and Emily kissed Alexi quickly, then took her hand.

“I’m fine.” Emily looked to her father, who was now leaning heavily against Daud’s side. “What about Corvo?” To Daud, she said, “Delilah did something, she—she took his powers. I think.”

This, Daud had not seen, or heard. New worry rose within him. He set a hand on Corvo’s cheek, feeling him press into the touch. “Did she?”

“I can’t feel the Void,” Corvo groaned, then leveraged himself up. “My Arcane Bond is gone, too. I saw Thomas double over. He barely caught himself in time. But then, I suppose he remembers how it feels.”

“But did she _take_ it?” Dad insisted, ignoring the memories that came with Corvo’s words. “Is it gone?“

Corvo frowned, confused. “What else would it be? I-I don’t _know_.”

Daud sighed. “How do we get out of here?” he asked, raising his eyes to Emily. They had formulated a plan, of course, but that had involved Corvo and all the Whalers in full possession of their powers, not half of them stranded. And besides that, they had prepared for a siege, and for all-out war. Not for a desperate escape.

“I know a way,” Corvo answered in Emily’s stead. “A ship captain I know. She arrived in Dunwall yesterday, asked for an audience. I had no time, but—she can get us out of the city.“

“She can,“ Daud questioned. “But will she?“

Corvo nodded. “She will.“

“But first,” Emily cut in, “we need to take care of Ramsey.”

“Any ideas?” Daud asked.

Emily smiled grimly. “Plenty.”

*

Emily hissed into Ramsey’s ear as he struggled against her hold. “We have been watching you, Ramsey.” She kept the pressure on his throat, but increased it slowly enough so he’d hear what she had to say. “We know you’ve been working against me.” Ramsey grunted. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

When she finally choked him out and he fell to the ground, she smirked. “Enjoy the rations and well-water. And, of course, sleeping next to a fortune.” Then, she bent and rifled through his pockets, retrieving her and Corvo’s signet rings. “He didn’t know there were three,” she told Daud.

“Don’t look so smug,” Daud told her, bending down to pick up the traitor and sling him over his shoulder to carry him down into the safe room proper. “You’ll turn into your father.“

“Which one?“ Emily shot back, and Daud rolled his eyes.

Corvo bent over the body as Daud set Ramsey down. “I’ll have my sword back, thank you.” Coming down the stairs, Emily tossed him his ring.

“These won’t leave our hands again,” she vowed, and Corvo nodded. Then, he handed her her own sword back: an exact replica of Pathmaker. Piero had made it for Emily for her eighteenth birthday and she’d carried it ever since; having practised often enough with Corvo’s own to know how to wield the folding blade with ease.

“Crossbows?” Emily asked as she put her blade back on her belt. Daud nodded — he was already carrying his wrist bow, but Corvo and Emily tended to keep to swords and pistols only for public appearances. He then turned and opened the gun case resting on the work bench. He picked up the pistol therein — and Corvo’s mask. How many people had forgotten about it, out in the Isles? They’d be reminded now. For a moment, Daud almost wanted to kiss it for luck. Corvo appeared at his side.

“You ready for this?“

Daud turned to look up at him. Finding himself without words, he nodded. He stretched up and kissed Corvo, then. For good luck.

Behind them, Emily was saying her own goodbyes — to Alexi.

“Find Curnow and Thomas. You, Cottings, and the Whalers have to keep the city safe from the worst. Keep in touch with Wyman. They mustn’t leave Morley now, no matter the King’s response to Delilah.”

When Daud looked over his shoulder, the two were holding each other tightly.

“Come back to me,” he heard Alexi whisper. “Don’t fall off any rooftops.”

“I promise.”

Daud turned towards the door that would lead them out of the Tower and into the streets of Dunwall. Anton Sokolov had made these locks. Here was to hoping they’d hold, however long they were gone.

* * *

 

For one person alone, the way through the Tower District would have been an impossible obstacle course. Well, for one of the three of them, at least a _challenging_ one. Daud at least still had his powers, so he took point. Keeping Emily between them, Corvo brought up the rear; and Daud restrained himself from checking over his shoulder every other minute whether he was keeping up. Corvo had chugged two elixirs before they’d left, shaken himself like a wolfhound, and pronounced himself ‘fit for duty.’ Daud found it was a terrible euphemism — so he distracted himself by dropping down on one guard’s head to knock him out, then tripping the one who came to the first one’s aid on their way out the door and choking them unconscious. He quickly searched the guard station for whatever they might be able to make use of, including a memorandum penned by Ramsey. Daud had a feeling they’d find a few more of those the closer they got to the docks.

Corvo, light-fingered as usual, took a quick detour to rob whatever Doctor Galvani had left behind. “He never learns,” Corvo muttered, counting coin into his pockets and handing Emily a spare elixir. Daud vaulted a barricade, ignoring the dead guard slumped over it, and slammed himself into an unsuspecting member of the Serkonan guard, knocking them out instantly. Using hand gestures alone, he signalled for Emily and Corvo to look in on the staff at the Dunwall Courier. If anyone was bound to have more information than they printed, it was their chief editor. Daud, meanwhile, decided to pay the Boyles a quick visit. Or, rather, Ichabod Boyle’s strung-up corpse.

The three guards inside were easily dealt with, and Daud rifled through the registers and safes first before taking a good look at the body.

“Luca didn’t hire the most accomplished assassin,” he murmured to himself.

“You mean not you,“ Corvo delivered from behind him, dropping down from the floor above.

“Done at the Courier?” Daud asked, ignoring the jab.

Corvo nodded. “Simon says they forced him to print the name Crown Killer. He’s _sorry_. Emily told him he’s forgiven.”

“That’s more kindness than he deserves,” Daud decided. “Let’s keep moving.”

*

The streets by the docks were held by guards loyal to the Duke — the Whalers had retreated upon saving as many civilians as they could, getting them out of the district if they could. Daud learnt as much from Kieron, down by the docks. But it was not that easy. Of course it wouldn’t have been. It never was.

Cottings was kneeling by his side as they found him, doing her best to stem the bleeding. But it was no use. Daud gathered him up against his side, leaning close to hear him speak.

“I lost my powers,” Kieron rasped, his lips stained red with blood. “Just as a Clockwork was coming down hard. It was-it was a child, sir.” He coughed, his lungs rattling. “I couldn’t not—and then I couldn’t blink away.”

A few steps away, Corvo’s shoulders drew up.

“I was out of arc mines. Fergus had to jump in to take it down. I’m sorry, sir,” Kieron managed, and Daud kept half an eye on Corvo as he clenched his fist, his left, as though he wanted to blink, to _get away_ , and then remembered at the last moment that he couldn’t; that his abilities were gone, and that _that_ was the reason why there was a Whaler bleeding out in Daud’s arms.

“You did good, kid,” Daud soothed him quietly, never mind that Kieron was in his twenties now. He’d been so young when he joined. “You did good.”

“You have to leave,“ Kieron insisted, pushing weakly against Daud’s arm. “The Empress—“

“She’s scouting ahead, she’s fine.”

“Good. Sir, I—I—”

Daud would never hear what Kieron had intended to be his final words. Gently, he laid him back on the ground. Cottings drew a hand over his face to close his eyes, then bent her head.

“It’s my fault,” Corvo murmured, his voice breaking.

“Sir,” Cottings said quietly; knowing the burden of losing men under one’s command — men who trusted them, believed in their duty to fulfil their orders. They’d had no time to explain what had happened at the Tower, but Cottings knew enough about their circumstances to be able to put two and two together. “You would’ve done the same for any of us.”

Corvo did not answer. Instead, Daud turned to Cottings. “Return to the Tower by any means necessary. Find Alexi and the others, then lead the Whalers and any remaining civilians out into the district. Keep them safe.”

Cottings nodded, then, as if in afterthought, saluted him. “Sir. Good luck.” With one last glance at Corvo, she immediately started on the way back towards the Tower, making use of the path they’d cleared.

Daud joined Corvo’s side and leaned out over the parapet. “I see Emily. She found a way towards the ship.” He stood but stayed low, plotting a course across the street and docks.

“Daud.” Corvo’s eyes were asking for _something_ when Daud looked back at him. Scorn, perhaps. Or forgiveness.

“It’s not your fault,” Daud said as he leaned down to grasp Corvo’s chin. “He was doing his job.” He waited until Corvo nodded. “Now we do ours.”

* * *

Meagan Foster was wondering whether she might have a chance getting past those Grand Guard assholes on her own when three sopping wet, bedraggled creatures heaved themselves up on deck of her ship. Well, only one at first.

“Captain,” Attano — older, greyer, still strong as an ox — greeted as he straightened himself out. Then, he looked up… and reared back. Of course. Her arm. Her eye. He didn’t know.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, Lord Protector,” she greeted. “But you look like death warmed over.”

At the sound of her voice, two more people swiftly followed over the railing.

“Billie?” The Empress had grown. She looked like this might be what finally got her to keel over, even on such an already shitty day. But it was not her judgement that Meagan feared.

“Lurk?” Daud. He stepped forward, extending an arm, protectively, as if to draw Emily behind him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I could ask you the same thing, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) DING DONG THE WITCH IS BACK! I mean, what else can I say?  
> b) Ahhhhh so much foreshadowing nomnomnom, _delicious_.  
>  c) I stole Delilah's dialogue from the game and I have zero problem with that. She has the best lines!  
> d) Please be advised that several people have already taken me to task for Kieron. I KNOW IT'S NOT NICE. IT STILL NEEDED TO BE DONE.  
> e) And THIS is what I gave Cottings amnesia for. TO KEEP THE SECRET. BECAUSE REASONS.  
> f) And there's so many more looovely secrets still to come.


	5. Chapter Two — I Know You've Heard It's Over Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only, for all that they had much to say, they spoke very little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on, I hear you say, it's Monday?? Yes, it is — but to save all the mission chapters from overcrowding, I decided to write little interlude chapters that give our dear idiots a bit of breathing room. They're short, so I figured I'd post them at the beginning of the week, to make the wait a little shorter :')
> 
> In this episode: the sweet, sweet sound of betrayal.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Blackbird Song, by Lee DeWyze](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wbgb3lgMluA&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=69&t=0s).

Captain Meagan Foster was a smuggler, a trader, a ship captain. It would depend on who one asked to answer whether she was any good at any of those things. She liked to think she was.

She’d been a spy, too — an informant.

And before that, an assassin.

A traitor.

And now the man she’d hurt so badly was on her ship, seeking refuge from the very witch she’d once led right to their door like the wolves from a young princess’ stories. She would have to explain — explain how she’d lost her arm and eye to the Grand Guard the night she’d broken into Aramis Stilton’s abandoned home. Explain how she’d helped Corvo, or attempted to, at least, to try and get Daud out of the Void; how she’d continued sending information — gossip, really — back to Dunwall in exchange for a meagre chance at clearing her conscience. Until that night.

She’d have to explain, too, why she’d come back to Dunwall now. Why they should have any reason to trust her.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until that night, until they were in one of the cabins on board of the Dreadful Wale, that the full weight of the day’s events hit Daud. That he realised just how badly, massively they’d fucked up.

 _Delilah_.

She was back, returned from the Void, and stronger than she had ever been. She’d taken Corvo’s _powers_. Who could do that? Daud wasn’t sure even the Outsider could take away someone’s Mark — otherwise, he might have been sorely tempted in the case of Granny Rags, Daud thought spitefully, remembering the old hag a little more fondly now for knowing what a menace witches could be if they _really_ set their mind to it. Granny had been a cannibalistic terror, but at least she’d had no ambitions for the throne. Empress of the Distillery District would have been good enough for her.

Daud stared up at the low ceiling. When Corvo had revealed he had a way out of Dunwall, and that said way was on a _ship_ , he hadn’t even considered; he’d just wanted out. But now, on said ship, he just wanted _off_. He hated boats. Corvo, of course, felt right at home — he’d served in Serkonos’ navy for a time after the Duke had called him up from the Blade Verbena. Emily, too, was obnoxiously seaworthy, and if the Wale had sails, he was sure she’d be up in the rafters like a damned monkey day in, day out.

Next to him, Corvo shifted, pressed against him on the narrow cot. Daud was glad exhaustion had taken Corvo under soon after they’d settled in. They hadn’t talked much after Billie — Meagan — had shown them where to bunk for the night.

And, shit, that too.

Corvo hadn’t been surprised to see her. He’d _known_. For how long? For how long had he known of Lurk’s new identity — and for how long had he been hiding it from Daud?

* * *

 

During the first few days of their voyage to Karnaca, the Dreadful Wale was quiet, for all that there were four people currently living, sleeping, working, _talking_ on it. Only, for all that they had much to say, they spoke very little. None of them had ever been the ones to walk on eggshells, but the hush fallen over the ship might as well have everyone tiptoeing through the galley.

Emily kept to her cabin the first night, her mind still racing and her heart weighed down. She’d been cast off her throne, and by who? By her _aunt_? Could it really be true, could Delilah be her mother’s sister? That question occupied Emily’s mind more than her return from the Void; but she saw Corvo and Daud reeling. Meagan, too, in a quieter way. It was strange to call her by her new name at first, but Meagan had told them that Billie Lurk — was gone. So they copped to it. It felt strange to look for someone she’d barely known in a face so changed, and not only by her wounds.

In the morning, she would write letters; to be dispatched as soon as they reached Karnaca. To Alexi, to the Whalers and Curnow, to Wyman up in Morley. Her heart ached for not having her most loved ones by her side; but then Wyman was needed in Alba, and Alexi, Cottings, and Curnow would hold the Whalers together in Daud and Corvo’s absence. She wondered how they were faring, half of them without their connection to the Void once more but, more painfully, without the bond they shared with Corvo. Fifteen years some of them had carried it, and before that had been tethered to Daud. Emily could barely fathom how startlingly bereft it must feel.

* * *

 

Corvo and Daud barely said two words to each other over a very late breakfast the first morning out at sea. The following night, Corvo found Daud up on deck.

“Finding your sea legs?” he commented quietly as he stepped up beside him at the railing.

“Gonna have to, if I’m to be of any use,” Daud rumbled, not taking his eyes of the horizon. Corvo wanted to reach out, to take his hand… but did not move. For all that they’d slept entwined, woken up together, for all that Daud still greeted him with a kiss on his forehead, he could feel that there were words unsaid between them that made even their bed feel empty.

“Daud,” Corvo said, if just to begin. “She asked me never to tell you.”

Meagan had explained, that day; telling them why she’d severed contact three years ago. How she’d come to lose a fight with the Grand Guard, and what it had cost her. And before that, how she’d offered Corvo her help in finding a way to steal Daud back from the Void.

“And you conceded to her demand,” Daud returned. “And I never wondered why I knew the names of _most_ of your informants. Just not the ones in Serkonos. In _Karnaca_.” Corvo watched him shake his head. “What else did you hide from me?“

“Daud—”

Daud turned then, looked Corvo right in the eye. “What else? Who else?”

“Who else, what?“ Corvo asked, at a loss as to what Daud wanted to hear — or wanted _not_ to hear. “Helped me search for you when everyone else believed you lost forever?”

“Who else risked their lives,” Daud shot back. “Who else did you put in danger because of _me_?”

“Meagan lost her arm and eye because she went looking for Aramis,” Corvo growled, doing his best to keep his voice down, “because he was her _friend_. I did not tell her to, I never even got the chance to _ask her_.“

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

Corvo sighed. “Meagan was the only one. Is the only one. Everyone else you know about; Dmitri in Morley, Aeolos in Tyvia. I’m not running your Whalers behind your back, Daud.”

“You were running _her_.”

“It was her condition for helping me.”

“Why?”

“It’s not my—”

“Corvo!” Daud growled.

“Because she was convinced that if you knew, you’d kill her,” Corvo finally erupted with it, running out of rope and getting nowhere fast. _Something_ flickered over Daud’s expression, then his eyes shuttered and he turned away. “I told her she was wrong,” Corvo added softly. “But I had to promise her.”

“Did you promise Jessamine, too?” Daud asked quietly.

Corvo’s heart clenched. “I had no idea Delilah was ever even suspected to be her sister; nor do I know whether it might be true. Jessamine never told me. The _Heart_ never did. And now it’s too late to ask.”

“Would she have?“

Corvo closed the distance between them, to lean against the railing next to Daud. To take his hand.

“I don’t know.”

It was only fair he answer honestly.

*

That night, Corvo was in their cabin, getting ready for bed while Daud was still on deck, talking to Meagan. Or, perhaps more accurately, while the two were being taciturn at one another — they’d barely exchanged more than two dozen words since Daud had recognised his former lieutenant. Her coming to Dunwall to help them hadn’t changed that yet.

He’d just unbuttoned his shirt when, sooner than he’d expected, the door opened. Daud stepped inside, halting for a moment when he saw Corvo. But he cast down his eyes, avoiding Corvo’s gaze, and cleared his throat.

“It’ll be another ten days before we reach Karnaca,” he said, closing the door behind him. Corvo watched as he busied himself with removing his gloves, then unbuttoning his coat.

Corvo swallowed a sigh. “Daud—”

“I know,” Daud cut in quite before Corvo could determine how to finish his sentence. “I know.” When he raised his eyes to Corvo’s, there was more than anger in them, more than disappointment. And certainly more than placid acceptance of their situation.

Corvo went to reply, but from one moment to the next, he found himself pressed back against the bulwark of the ship, Daud crowding against him, his eyes dark and unyielding.

“I know,” he said.

Then, he kissed Corvo, lips brushing and tugging; licked into his mouth when Corvo moaned and desperately tried to be quiet for the noise carried by the hull.

“Meagan’s up on deck and Emily’s long asleep,” Daud murmured between kisses, tugging at Corvo’s bottom lip with his teeth before relenting. The years were long, but they’d done nothing to relieve the effect Daud’s kisses had on Corvo; even now his heart beat faster and his mind knew nothing but the thrill of Daud’s touch.

They continued like this for a while, until both of them were hardly _satisfied_ , but more at ease with one another. Slowly, they pulled away from each other, extricating themselves with care. They finished undressing and, when they bedded down, Daud tucked an arm around his waist, and Corvo felt as though he could breathe freely for the first time in days.

“Do you think we’ll hear from the black-eyed bastard?” Daud rasped against his neck.

“It’s been so long, I wonder if he hasn’t forgotten about us,” Corvo responded. He raised his left hand close before his eyes, to look at the unmarked skin in the low light. He hadn’t yet stopped wearing the wrist strap during the day. He wondered if that was habit, or something else.

“He does tend to turn up at the least opportune moment,” Daud commented drily. “Three of his Marked going to war ought to catch his interest.”

“If he’s watching.” Corvo could not help feeling despondent. And fearful, too.

“He’s always watching.”

Daud sought to reassure him, he knew, but Corvo couldn’t muster a reply.

“The question is whether he’ll give you another choice,” Daud continued.

Corvo had considered it. Giving up his powers had seemed impossible for as long as he’d had them, but now… what if he could? But no, he decided, it was foolish. Emily needed his help, and he was of _more_ help to her with his powers intact. That was, of course, _if_ the Outsider returned them to him — if he could. If he wanted to.

And what if he did not deem worthy Corvo of having them? Was there dishonour in losing one’s heretical gifts?

Was there weakness?

Corvo swallowed. “Would you think less of me if he didn’t?” he asked quietly.

Behind him, Daud was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t care what you can do. I only care who you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH.  
> b) That's it, basically.  
> c) KISSING, THO.  
> d) They might be stuck on a boat right now, but on Friday, there'll be the devil to pay.


	6. Chapter Three — And War Must Surely Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something had to give.
> 
> (Emily discovers a few more secrets than she bargained for.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right, so, on Monday we had adorable old assassins kissing. today, it's more... adorable old assassins being really confused.
> 
> I'm travelling this weekend, so responses will be slow, but know that I appreciate all your yelling.  
> (Is it a good sign when I anticipate yelling in my ANs? No. No, it is not.)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Heavy Games, by Portugal. The Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dy4PPi-Fwuk&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=69).

Meagan demanded of the Wale what she could, but even so it took them two weeks to reach Karnaca. On the big, jewelled map in Dunwall Tower, the capital of Serkonos was marked with a big, fat ruby; and that was how Emily had always thought of it. And now, she was standing on deck of a ship in the middle of the bay, looking towards the shore. Karnaca — the birthplace of her fathers. What must it be like, for them? Daud at least had been back numerous times in working for the Crown; but for Corvo, this was the first time in 15 years. He had never been able to leave her side, same as he’d never been allowed to leave her mother’s. He’d been conscripted into a duty he’d not chosen for himself. Would he have, had it been a choice? Perhaps — but he’d only been nineteen. Emily was older already now than he’d been when he’d first left Karnaca, left his home and family — only his mother, then — behind forever.

Had they been hopeful men, when they left? Had the world seemed open, inviting, offering its virtues and vices for them to pick?

For that was how it now seemed to Emily. So often when she was young, bored at Court or Parliament, she’d dreamt of sailing the Ocean with her crew of Whalers; of wandering the plains of Pandyssia and the vast glacial deserts of Tyvia. She wanted to see the world, not read about it. And now, she had what she’d always wanted. She sighed. Even she felt lost, now. She’d longed for freedom, up in her tower. _Be careful what you wish for._

Up close, Karnaca smelt like the sea and strange spices. Up close, it was a tangled web of blood and ambition. The Duke was bleeding the city dry little by little — the blood that ran through Serkonos was silver; and he’d spill every last drop to prop up his new Empress. Meagan had taken them close enough to the docks the night before for them to hear some of the loudspeaker announcements during the Duke’s continued absence. Delilah had named him her consort, the voice had declared, and Corvo and Daud had both snorted loudly enough to startle even Meagan.

“What’s so funny?” she’d demanded, her demeanour bristling.

Daud had merely cast her a look. “You know what.”

It had taken Emily nudging Corvo for him to explain, “Delilah would never have anyone but Breanna Ashworth.” Then, he’d paused. “Whom we’re going to have to pay a visit one of these days, too.”

Daud hadn’t looked at Meagan as he’d asked, “Did you know Ashworth’s taken a _minor_ position at the Royal Conservatory?“

Meagan hadn’t looked up as she’d answered, “I heard something to that effect.”

Such had been their morning conversation for the past fortnight. Emily sighed. Something had to give.

* * *

 

Never had Meagan been so glad to have solid ground beneath her feet as the day she stepped off the skiff and onto the docks at Campo Seta. It wasn’t the most obvious place to start — or so she thought. But they had to start somewhere, and Campo Seta was close enough to the Grand Palace to be teeming with the latest gossip but far enough away that guard presence wasn’t as heavy as in the richer districts.

Emily had given her letters to send off with a courier she trusted; and much as Meagan would have protested she wasn’t anyone’s errand boy, Emily had at least been practical in her request, and offered to get them underway herself at the first opportunity. She merely wished word to reach Dunwall of their safe passage as soon as possible, she’d said, and Meagan had held out her hand for the letters. Besides, she knew who to give them to. She squinted against the sunlight, towards the other ships currently docked. If the Carthago was here, then Ternion would not be far; and that old trader’s docking schedule had not changed in twenty years.

She knew most of the dock workers by name; including the ones that wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the Wale for a few days and wait until they had loaded up whatever cargo was certain to get them all arrested when the Grand Guard showed up. Meagan was wise to their tricks and schemes, and even as it paid to be careful, she wasn’t too worried. Pretending to inspect the notice boards for any new announcements, she eavesdropped as the port master conspired with his friend. They’d have just about two or three days to move to a different dock. Good enough.

**THE CROWN KILLER IS WATCHING.**

She scoffed seeing the white paint on the bricks. It didn’t quite have the same touch as ‘The Outsider walks among us,’ did it? Back in Dunwall, that was all the cobblestones had ever had to offer, once the messages decrying Burrows’ shrivelled prick had washed off. This Crown Killer thing was one mess she’d wisely kept her nose out of; but now it seemed she was about to stick her arm right into a hornet’s nest.

A man stepped up to the board beside her, a pouch and a letter holder on his belt. Meagan decided she had seen enough and brushed past him. Her time on the streets had taught her how to survive, and Daud… had taught her more than just killing.

Lift one.

Lift two.

As she walked away towards the other side of the docks, she counted the coin he’d had on him. Just ten, but any money was better than none. She still had cargo in the hold, which she’d have to sell, and fast. She had a feeling they might need the space, if Daud still picked up strays anywhere he went. And if he and Corvo had managed to stand the sight of each other for fourteen years, give or take, he was sure to have rubbed off on him, too. Above her, one of the ornate loudspeakers crackled to life.

“Fellow Serkonans, in the Duke's absence, I have the following announcement: As a response to violent crime and foreign interference in our affairs, travel between districts is restricted to those carrying the appropriate permits, including citizens moving between home and work. Any attempt to hinder the Grand Guard in their enforcement duties will be met with the exercise of force. Any complaints as to the behaviour of the Grand Guard should be addressed to the nearest guardsman.”

Meagan shook her head. Choffers. Still, she made a mental note of what this new announcement meant. Not that either she, or Emily, Daud, and Corvo would try to pass through the district with _any_ sort of paperwork. The institution of permits, however, meant checkpoints, and the reactivation of old walls of light throughout the city. The Wall of Light installations in the Palace district had been brought back online shortly after Luca had taken power after his father’s death. After that, slowly, more of them had become operational across Karnaca, but mostly in the wealthier districts, like Cyria Gardens. That they were also being installed in one of the labour quarters showed that Luca meant business — particularly when it came to shutting off access to Addermire. Addermire Station lay just on the other side of the district, the railcars being the only way across the bay. Although Campo Seta was mostly inhabited by dock workers, there were also plenty of miners. In short, those that needed treatment most; both for the Black Spittle, and against bloodfly disease.

Even before Meagan had left for Dunwall, the announcements and warnings had been everywhere: that this year’s ‘bloodfly concern’ was the most severe in ‘recent memory’ — meaning since the beginning of the old Duke’s reign. As tired as she was of people going on and on about how things had been better under Luca’s father, she’d been in Karnaca long enough to know that while people were exhausting in their nostalgia, they weren’t always wrong. The order was for citizens to report any nests or infested corpses to the Grand Guard. Of course, there’d better no-one try to speak last rites for the dead; anyone caught following the practices of the Abbey would be punished.

The only upside, as far as Meagan was concerned, was that the Grand Guard liked to go all out: entire buildings were covered in banners and signs; practically advertising them to anyone who had the sense to stay away from the nests and somewhere to be. Apartments seized due to infestations were a hindrance to some — a way around Grand Guard checkpoints for others. Meagan tilted her head as she came to stand in front of the apartment building on the corner across from the black market shop. A roadblock ahead warned of a Grand Guard checkpoint. Meagan would make her way around today; but Emily, at least, would appreciate the intel.

* * *

 

The night after they’d arrived in Karnaca, Corvo felt restless — unsettled. He put it down to the plans they’d made, the newspaper clippings and directions pinned to the board in the main room of the ship; directions that it would be up to Emily to follow. On her own. He and Daud had their own leads to run down, and Meagan would be out at the docks, waiting for the watchtower to power down before picking Emily up in the skiff. He couldn’t help but feel they were sending their daughter into a battle she should never have been forced to face; but Emily had fought tooth and nail to go alone.

“I need you and Daud making friends,“ she’d told him, not for the first time. “You know Karnaca, you know its people. You know how to talk to them.” She’d paused, let a moment pass. “I know how to be a shadow.”

“There are wanted posters everywhere,” Meagan had spoken up from where she’d been leaning against the table, smoking her pipe. “Of two out of three of you, at least. Choose wisely who you talk to.”

In the safety of their cabin, Corvo curled up against Daud, who wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, tracing soothing circles into the base of his skull. Corvo closed his eyes. To think, he wondered, that only a fortnight ago, his biggest worry had been his grief for Jessamine and his fear of a scheming dilettante. It seemed so far away now, all of it. He’d laid eyes on his homeland for the first time in fifteen years today. The bay looked just as he remembered — he had no doubt that, when he got too close, the image would blur, and change, as though the silver dust were getting in his eyes.

When Corvo next opened his eyes, he knew instinctively that he _was_ on the Wale, yet not. Something was wrong; and the cot next to him empty.

“Daud?” Corvo blinked to let his eyes adjust to the dark, then moved to light the lantern on the floor — but he hadn’t yet touched it when it flared to life, as though by its own will. It flickered, then held. He was alone.

Corvo sat up, feeling every minute of the long ocean journey in his bones. It was one thing for Emily to tease him that he was not getting any younger; it was another to be made aware of it so acutely. He knew Daud thought he would trade in the solid rock of Gristol for a life at sea, but it was not quite so simple, even if he did take to the voyage more easily than Daud.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He stood and went for the door — blocked. Corvo sighed. Of course.

Turning slowly, he knew by the fluttering shadows that, were this any other place than no place at all, he would feel a breeze cold enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. As it was, there was nothing. With measured steps, Corvo moved towards the gaping hole the Void had torn into the hull of the Wale. How long had it been since he’d felt that endless cold? The Outsider had not spoken to him, or Daud, in over a decade; his appearances few and far between even immediately after Daud’s return. Eventually, there had been no more dreams, and the shrines still scattered throughout Dunwall and the Isles had ceased their whispering. No more songs for them.

And now, Corvo found himself back in the abyss; but one he did not recognise. It felt different, it _looked_ different. Nothing like the scenes pilfered from Corvo’s dreams and fears, none of his sorrows on display. Just… rock. Were these the bare bones of the Void? It felt older, here.

Or perhaps that was just him.

Corvo walked on, looking up and around. No sign of the Outsider; and Corvo did not miss the implication of this long stretch of Void he had to _walk_ , unable to bridge the distance in the blink of an eye.

“Go on,” he muttered. “You might as well show yourself.“ He was about to step through a crooked archway when he felt the Void ripple behind him; and at the same time as it irked him that a vague sense of disturbance was all he could discern, it startled him that he could tell as much at all. It was guesswork rather than certainty that led him to his conclusion: Transversal.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing Daud come up behind him; his expression shifting between worry and annoyance.

“You, too?” Corvo asked simply.

Daud nodded. “Engine room.” He gave the Void around them a speculative glance. “Wanted to give you a head start, it seems.”

“Can you sense him?”

“I know he’s here only because it would be foolish to assume he’s not,” Daud returned.

For a moment, they watched the rocks around them splinter and fragment into the shards of the Void that followed them everywhere they went. Then, they both startled at the sound of yet another voice.

“Is this… the Void?”

Corvo’s heart sank as he turned. No. No, not _her_.

“Let her go,” he barked at nothing. “This is not—”

“My fight?“ Emily objected as she walked up to them. “I believe you’ll find it is.”

“Your burden to bear,” Daud answered in Corvo’s stead. Corvo found his own anger mirrored in Daud’s eyes. “He never should have brought you here.“

 _I didn’t bring her here_ , a disembodied voice suddenly emerged from the shadows. _She found her own way. Eventually._ The Outsider finally stood before them, hands clasped behind his back; the way Corvo had seen him so often. It’d been so long… but the Void was not a place one forgot. Nor its god. _Corvo, Daud. Your Highness_ , he addressed Emily _._ _I never expected us to meet._ _I’m a friend of your fathers’ from the bad old days._

He disappeared.

Daud groaned. “I hate cat and mouse games.”

“What now?“ Emily asked. She sounded… intrigued. Wary, but curious. Corvo knew the feeling well. He was already tiring of it. He started walking.

“Now, we chase him.“

They found him, not too far ahead.

“What about Meagan?” was the first thing Emily asked once they’d caught up.

The Outsider tilted his head. _The captain carries a destiny beyond Karnaca, beyond Serkonos. But it is yet too early for her to accept._

“What do you want with her?” Daud growled. “Why won’t you just leave well enough alone? Hasn’t she put up with enough, from one Marked or another?”

_A question you might well one day ask her. And who, do you wonder, has taught her such stubbornness?_

“Stop with your riddles and give us your speech instead,” Daud demanded. “We all know you’re dying for it.”

When the Outsider spoke again, it was with a distinctly put-upon air.

_Fifteen years ago, you defeated Delilah. But now she’s back, and she’s taken what belongs to you; and she’s threatening to destroy everything and everyone you hold dear. Fifteen years ago, you hauled a city back from the brink. I wonder — can you do it again?_

Once more, the Outsider vanished. Corvo wanted to heave a sigh, but was interrupted by a walkway of Void rock appearing just to his right. He raised a brow, Daud and Emily nodded. As they followed the Outsider through the Void, Corvo considered the obvious: Emily did look perturbed by what — by _who_ — she was seeing. There was no doubt she remembered the boy with black eyes from her dreams, the ghost in the tower that had visited her only once during their time at the Hound Pits pub. But she did not seem scared, nor intimidated. Corvo supposed Daud’s infrequent, ill-gotten references to ‘the black-eyed bastard’ had somewhat inured her to the inevitable.

Upon turning a corner, they came to face him once again. Corvo and Daud looked to Emily. She stepped forward, squaring her jaw.

“What do you want?”

 _I watched your mother die at the hands of schemers who wanted your little empire_ _, but t_ _hen you were rescued by a man in a strange mask and an assassin who finally gave in and chose a side. I thought that was the end of the excitement. But someone yanked the rug from under your feet. Your Empire is_ gone _, and it will never be the same — even if you do get it back._ _W_ _hat are you prepared to do, your Imperial Majesty? Are you clever enough to do it without spilling a river of blood?_ The Outsider stood and just watched them for a moment. _I asked Corvo and Daud those questions fifteen years ago._ _Now_ _,_ _it's your turn._

Corvo watched, and waited, the tension coiling in his gut. This was the moment he had feared for so long — ever since the Outsider had expressed his _curiosity_. Emily had always wanted to know about the Void, ever since learning of his, Daud’s, and the Whalers’ powers. He’d once asked her not to go through any doors she shouldn’t — or, at the very least, not to do so on her own. He’d implored her not to add the Void to the list of things he’d failed to protect her from. And now, the Void had found her.

But the moment he’d anticipated did not come — the Mark did not simply burn itself into Emily’s hand before she’d even said anything. Instead… the Outsider was _waiting_.

“Are you—are you _offering_ me the Mark?” Emily asked then, her eyes fixed on the Outsider. At Corvo’s side, Daud shifted minutely. As badly as Corvo wanted to interfere, to convince Emily to refuse the Void’s _gifts_ , it was too late now. He’d had fifteen years to make his case; all the while training Whalers in both combat and magic. He’d carried the Arcane Bond himself for nearly all that time — if Emily was truly considering it now, he only had himself to blame.

 _Is it an offer you seek?_ The Outsider returned with a tilt of his head. There was more light, or what passed for it in the Void, in this area, and Corvo wondered if he’d changed. Did fifteen years mean _anything_ to a god? Did they make a difference?

Instead of speaking, Emily held out her left hand, her eyes never leaving the Outsider’s. From one moment to the next, black lines appeared, as if from underneath her skin, surging to the surface, searing; and she gasped in pain. Corvo nearly wished he might feel his own Mark burn in response. But there was nothing. He’d lost the Void, and lost his daughter to it, too.

“It burns,“ she murmured. “From the inside.“ When the transfer of power was complete, she clenched her fist, and the Mark shone brightly. “This is how I take back my throne?”

 _If you can_. The Outsider stepped aside — deliberately, as if clearing her path.

“How?” she asked, and for the first time since the Outsider had spoken only to her, her gaze flickered back to Corvo and Daud.

“Let it take,“ Corvo remembered Daud’s words from so long ago. “It’s there, don’t chase it. Reach for it, and when it reaches back, you hold on.” He felt the back of Daud’s fingers brush his.

They watched as Emily closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She lifted her left hand. Her Mark began to glow. She opened her eyes, focusing on a far island in the Void.

“All those stories,” she breathed. “They’re true.” With that, she launched herself into the air: in a high arc, as precise as threading herself through the eye of a needle along gilded yarn. Before Corvo could think to set off after her — and then think of the fact that he _couldn’t_ — the Outsider wandered back over to them, and tilted his head at him. What he said next surprised Corvo even more.

_I can return your powers to you, Corvo. Delilah likes to think she is invincible, but she is not yet quite like me. She didn’t take them, just_ _locked_ _your magic_ _inside yourself_ _._

Digesting this, Corvo said nothing for a moment. He could have them back. Daud had been right to ask if Delilah was truly capable.

_You have doubts._

Corvo tilted his head at him. Of course he did — more so for the fact that the Outsider _offered_ such information, freely. Offered his _help_. “I am more than the sum of your gifts,” Corvo said at length. Daud remained silent.

 _You might be_ , the Outsider said. _But what is your choice?_

Corvo waited. Now that he was here, and if he concentrated, he could feel his powers scrabbling at the door, he felt the magic that suffused the Void — just not _quite_.

He nodded. He’d felt this, so long ago.

As the markings of black ink reappeared on his skin, Corvo felt as though a band of iron snapped from around his chest. He examined the back of his hand, lifted it to clench his fist and watch the Mark glow incandescent with its power. Fifteen years. Fifteen years he’d carried that burden, this connection to a place that robbed you of everything you were, no matter who you’d once been. And even though Delilah had done her best to make him believe the loss — the Void had still been there, all along.

“You must really hate Delilah,” he murmured, surprising himself by speaking the words aloud. But the Outsider did not seem to hold it against him.

_Delilah was born a pawn, but now she's got the throne. Times have changed, Corvo, and you haven't been watching the dark corners of the world. Maybe living in a palace has made you soft. What happens when you push a man farther than he ever thought he could go? Does he snap? And what happens when he tries to go home? You lost Jessamine, you lost your Empress, and then you spent fifteen years making sure it wouldn't happen again. But now it has. And this time you know where it leads. Will you do it all again? Where is that good man now?_ _Is it you? Or is he standing beside you?_

The Outsider’s words were spoken softly — almost curiously. And perhaps he was.

Perhaps Corvo was curious, too. He looked to Daud, who was still right by his side. “Let’s go.”

The Outsider stepped into their path. _The Void is something she must discover on her own._

“I didn’t do it alone,” Corvo returned. He remembered well how Daud’s presence, no matter how little they’d trusted each other then, had helped him keep his guard up. He’d have never admitted it at the time, not on pain of death, but now… fifteen years was a long time.

 _I didn’t say she was alone_ , the Outsider answered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daud spoke up.

In that moment, Emily appeared to their right. She looked distraught, and angry, and Corvo did not understand why until she reached inside her coat. Only then, he heard it. The faint thumping. The echo of a distant beat — the beat of a heart. No. No, please—

 _Corvo._ _Daud. I have missed you._ Jessamine’s voice echoed in the Void. Corvo felt his insides twist and his stomach turn. She sounded exactly the same. It had been… so long. So long since he’d heard her voice, and so much longer yet since he’d held her in his arms; kissed her, made _love_ to her. He’d given her up the day she died. She’d widowed him the day she told him she loved him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?“ Emily asked quietly then. “You could hear her voice all that time. You had this, and I had… a recording, that I found a _year_ after her death.”

“Emily—”

“Have you any idea how many times I’ve listened to it since?” Emily demanded. “Do you?”

“No father shows his daughter her mother’s torn-out heart,” Daud rasped before Corvo could reply. “No matter that it speaks with her voice.”

“But _you_ knew,” Emily delivered, accusation in her eyes.

“I was the first person Corvo used its powers on,” Daud contended, not avoiding her gaze.

“And what did she have to say, I wonder,” Emily challenged. To Corvo, she said, “You told me you’d _dreamt_ of her.”

“When she was returned to me, even such as this, it was as though I was dreaming,“ he whispered. “I’m sorry, Emily.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to _see_ her,” Daud explained, even as he had to know it would fall on deaf ears, for now. “Only those touched by _him_ could. What sense would it have made, to taunt you with an illusion?”

“I had a right to know!”

“You were a _child_.“

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she turned to the Outsider, who’d observed their little drama with crossed arms and detached curiosity.

”Take us out of this place.“

To Corvo’s renewed surprise, her request was granted, and a moment later, they all found themselves on deck of the Dreadful Wale, the bay dark around them, illuminated only by the lights coming from the city up on the shore. Emily stepped up to Corvo, her hands held out.

“Take it,” was all she said.

“Emily—”

“I don’t want it.“ Her words were final.

Corvo accepted the Heart from her hands and she turned to make her way back below deck.

 _I’ll always be here to guide you_. Jessamine’s voice sounded strange, here, in the open air and removed from the echo chamber of the Void.

Emily stopped and looked over her shoulder. “It’s fifteen years too late for that.” Then, she walked away.

* * *

 

Daud watched as Emily left. He watched as Corvo cradled the Heart in his hands; they were trembling. Daud suspected his own were anything but steady as he reached out.

“Let me,“ he said softly. Corvo’s eyes found his. For a long moment, he did not move. Then, he laid the Heart of the Empress in Daud’s hands.

“I should have expected the Outsider not to keep his word,” Corvo said then, bitterness twisting his voice, taking a few steps away; as if to escape the draw. “I should have known.”

Daud did not understand the magic that must have possessed Piero the night he’d made this. In the Void, they’d been as the Outsider knew them — or, perhaps, preferred them — but now he wasn’t wearing his gloves anymore and he felt, for the first time, the Heart’s leathery surface against his skin. Fifteen years ago, he’d never carried it, never even touched it. He’d been too afraid, had felt too guilty. Besides, she’d been Corvo’s, then. But now…

He’d told Corvo once not to let her become the ghost that haunted him. To let her be a part of him instead — and in being part of Corvo, she’d become part of Daud, too. Of his past, and present. And now, at least for a little while, his future.

“This is my fault,” he began. “She leveraged herself for me.”

 _Daud_ , the Heart objected before Corvo could. _It was my choice_.

“Delilah’s my fault, too.” He swallowed, his throat dry. “I said I had enough of killing. _Me_. When I should have just finished the job.”

“We both went for the painting and the ritual,“ Corvo said as he turned. “There was never a question.”

“Perhaps there should have been.” If he’d—if he’d just found Delilah in the Void, if he’d _understood_ what she was capable of… “I should… I should have—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Corvo sounded close enough to tears for the words to stick in his throat.

“She never found peace,” he said instead.

_What good is peace when the people I love are in danger?_

In the face of her conviction, Daud dared not voice his doubts. There were more obvious things to say — more obvious questions to ask.

“Jess—Jessamine,” he murmured quietly. “There are things we need to talk about.“

_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) soooo remember the thing I said about Daud and the Heart? I MEANT THAT SHIT.  
> b) Emily not being so damn alone here granted me the luxury of giving her a more realistic reaction, aka: fuck no we're not that, sorry mom.  
> c) don't worry, though, she's gonna come around. eventually.  
> d) EMILY'S GOT POWERS NOW, YO.  
> e) And wow, yeah, floaty whale boy REALLY hates Delilah, if he's just giving Corvo his powers back. Also, maybe he missed him. Just a little. Just him, though. Definitely not the other guy.


	7. Chapter Four — And If By Chance I Wake At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always sunny in Karnaca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, and with this, the MISSION CHAPTERS begin! I'm _mostly_ taking my time with this one for fun. The other missions will be significantly different from the game, but this one will read familiar — EXCEPT FOR ALL THE FEELS. You didn't think Emily would just stick her mother's heart into her pocket and trundle off, did ya? Oh wait, no, you thought the Heart wouldn't even turn up in this one. My bad. (Yee hehe.)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Kings and Queens and Vagabonds, by Ellem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNBMd9nSB8o&index=70&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

> **_KARNACA GAZETTE_ **
> 
> **_20_ ** **_ th _ ** **_, Month of Earth, 1852_ **
> 
> **_Crown Killer Rampage Continues_ **
> 
> _Wherever there are opponents of Empress Emily Kaldwin, so follow the ghastly deeds of the Crown Killer!_
> 
> _The first victims were citizens of Karnaca, most notably Correy Brockburn, one of the earliest to so openly criticize the young Kaldwin. Just a month after the passage of her Sharecropper Rights Act, Brockburn urged the Parliament in Gristol to hold a vote for No Confidence. He never ceased to scrutinize the decrees from Dunwall Tower, attacking each with the same ferocity._
> 
> _After Brockburn’s terrible death, several more fell in Karnaca, always old foes of the Kaldwin family, including Janice Tines, the former editor of the Karnaca Gazette. A week after her scathing editorial called_ _Kaldwin_ _"an Empress in name only,” Tines was found dead in her office, missing several limbs that were never recovered._
> 
> _Then the murders spread to other parts of the Empire. Dozens have now been taken, the latest being Ichabod Boyle, a respected businessman from Dunwall, who founded the "Anti-Rationing Club" to protest recent Imperial decrees on the distribution of whale oil._

* * *

“You ready for this?” Meagan asked as Emily inspected her gear in the ship’s main room the next morning. “The more chaos you cause, the harder it’s gonna be in the other districts. Grand Guard gets nervous if bodies start dropping where they can see them.”

Emily tilted her head. "If Corvo has taught me anything, it’s to be smart enough not to leave witnesses."

"Oh really? And how does an Empress do that these days?"

Emily fought not to roll her eyes and lifted her crossbow instead, showing her the bolts containing vials filled with a sickly greenish liquid.

Meagan scoffed. "I remember when Daud would toss those at us and tell us not to waste them trying to avoid collateral damage. And then, when he stopped — just after he'd met your father."

"Surely Corvo cannot take credit for all the changes in Daud," Emily challenged mildly, but that was not the last of her reply. "Nor all the blame."

"I’m not blaming anyone except the old man," Meagan answered, agreeable enough save for the uncomfortable edge to her voice. Discussing sentiments lay not in Meagan Foster’s nature. They all wore masks, some of their own making. She hadn’t questioned why Emily had chosen to gear up with her rather than Corvo and Daud, who were already up on deck — waiting for their orders. Distantly, Emily wondered if it had been things like this — trust, betrayed — that had driven Billie Lurk to do what she’d done. But Billie Lurk was gone, in her place stood Meagan Foster. And Meagan Foster did not take kindly to questions about the past.

* * *

 

The journey towards Campo Seta Docks was silent as the proverbial grave. Emily, Daud, and Corvo didn’t tell, and Meagan didn’t ask. It was enough that Corvo had brought his Void-damned mask. Meagan had hated that thing fifteen years ago, and she couldn’t help thinking it would bring them nothing but bad luck now. Another of Joplin’s misbegotten inspirations. It looked like death had been given a face so it could finally see itself in the mirror, but any mirror it looked into shattered into a thousand pieces.

She wasn’t stupid. Dark circles under their eyes were one thing: considering what they were going to attempt, anyone might be accused of not sleeping well. But Meagan did not have to ask to know why Emily suddenly had her hand wrapped in a torn-off scrap of fabric. Her left hand. Unless she’d gotten up at night and sliced herself up with one of Meagan’s kitchen knives, the young Empress had received a visit. A decidedly strange one. Meagan would not claim to be able to _sense_ the Void on anyone, but she remembered how it had sung in her own bones back when she’d shared Daud’s — and, for a time, Delilah’s — powers. Corvo had looked weak for the first few days on their voyage to Serkonos and resigned for the rest of them. He seemed different now. His left hand, too, was still bound.

So that was how it was going to go, then. The Outsider handed out his powers to those who’d lived in palaces for most of their lives; granted rescue from the Void to those who’d, by their own admission, thoroughly disappointed him. He let a witch escape whose only goal was revenge, to right a wrong that may as soon be real as imagined. Meagan had no opinion for she had no proof one way or the other — but she sure as Void had an _opinion_ ; and even though Meagan could see some justification in her _motive_ , if the story was true, she wondered.

Where was the Outsider when he was truly _needed_ — where was he when another servant boy was beaten half to death because he was late with the tea? Where was he when those who were different, those who were unwanted by their neighbours were denounced, chased through the streets until they could only go out at night? Where was the Outsider when one after the other, they were driven into the shadows? And, finally, where had he been when she’d lost her sweet Deidre? Had he been watching? Had he been _amused_? Or would he have rather given his damned Mark to Radanis, to _help_ him step from his brother’s shadow? Meagan ground her teeth as they drew closer to the docks. She had a feeling that, if Emily failed, she herself might have a go at Duke Luca Abele. Just to see who might win.

For now, she had a job to do, and still asked herself why she’d agreed to do it.

“I’ll take the skiff out closer to Addermire in a couple hours. Make sure you don’t take down the watch tower until you’re done. You don’t want shift change to catch it down and raid the entire island,” Meagan said to Emily as they docked.

“We’ll come with you,” Daud said, surprising Meagan. That wasn’t the plan.

She told him so.

“I want to take a quick look at Addermire myself,” he explained, and Meagan could tell by the look on his face that he was full of shit.

“Alright,” she agreed. She chanced a glance at Emily. “Getting Hypatia out from under the Duke’s thumb is an ambitious trick for your first job in Serkonos. Run it well, and you’ll have a good ally on your side.”

Emily nodded. Her expression was difficult to read with half of her face obscured by an ornate scarf carrying the same pattern as the lining of her coat — the Empress _accessorised_ , Meagan had noted cynically the first time she’d noticed the detail. She’d heard of the trouble the Empress and her Protector had been getting in over the past year or so. She’d have to ask about all that, but for now, she just wanted these three troublemakers off her skiff. They’d likely been seen by too many eyes already.

“Get going. And,” she hesitated, “good luck.”

* * *

 

As they made their way from the docks towards the side streets and alleys, Corvo fought not to let his awareness of their surroundings be crowded out by his own memories. He’d been down at these docks, or places like them, so often as a boy. He remembered the cobblestones running red with the blood of freshly gutted fish; the goods traded underhand and over counters. He remembered the sea and spices. His first deep breath of it, after so long in Gristol, after Dunwall, which tasted so much more like sheets of metal and rain and a current running on the air, felt so good it had to have been a bad joke. But the second breath felt the same, and by the hundredth, Corvo had let his steps lead him towards the end of the pier.

Daud was at his side, Emily on the other, and they didn’t have long before they ought to split up.

“There,” Daud pointed at familiar graffiti. “They still use the same sign.”

“Who does?” Emily asked, and it may well have been the first thing she’d said to them all day.

“The black market shops. Come on.” Corvo took another step, but nearly faltered: he’d forgotten what it was like. Over time, he’d developed an ear for the songs that runes and bone charms sang for those who would listen, to the point where sometimes he found them sooner than Daud. But here, now, he need not rely on his ears or ancient songs. Here, there was another heart beat beside his own.

He kept walking.

Above them, the speakers crackled.

> _“Fellow Serkonans, in the Duke's absence, I have the following announcement: New restrictions are now in place due to the political assassinations conducted in the name of the former Empress, Emily Kaldwin, and carried out by the former Royal Protector, Corvo Attano. The Grand Serkonan Guard will be stopping and questioning all foreigners and new workers in the streets of Karnaca. Compliance is mandatory.”_

Of course it was. For a moment, Corvo questioned the wisdom of wearing the mask even in broad daylight — considering that the Grand Guard would attack _any_ stranger on sight, anyway. But still, it would make anyone else think twice about pointing fingers or raising an alarm. It scared people, but it kept them quiet, too. He wondered when Delilah and Luca would show their hand and resort to putting up posters declaring Daud a fugitive as well. Rumours had been spread before the coup of Daud being the Crown Killer, of having been turned into a rabid attack dog on the Crown’s leash. So far, however, for all that she wanted Daud dead, his name was a card Delilah seemed reluctant to play.

Coming up on the black market shop, Corvo led them in through the side entrance. Once inside, there was a dock worker patting down the pockets of a dead Grand Guard soldier. He looked up, and stopped short, giving them a wary look. Eventually, he apparently concluded that those pockets weren’t going to get any emptier and stood, brushing the dust off his clothes.

“Gotta make ends meet,” he rumbled as he made to pass them; and Corvo stepped aside to let him through.

They looked after him for a moment, each considering the picture they made. Daud was the only one not wearing a mask among them; and curiously enough, in the current situation, he was the one who needed one least.

“What’s through here?” Emily asked then, moving past Corvo and following the flickering shadows against the back wall of the basement they were in.

“Beggars, probably,” Daud answered quietly, but made no move to stop her. Instead, he stepped up to Corvo. In a low voice, he said, “She won’t take the Heart?”

Corvo shook his head. “I tried, but she won’t have it. I explained about runes and bonecharms, and I do think she cannot see them, either, but she’s as stubborn as Jessamine ever was. She won’t take it on until she’s ready.”

“Or until she has no choice,“ Daud reminded him; just as Emily returned.

“There’s a new Grand Guard checkpoint further down the street. Meagan told me that there’s a bloodfly-infested apartment near here that should lead us to the other side of the Wall of Light,“ she said.

Corvo nodded. “Do you have the share of the money Meagan gave us?”

“I do.”

“If we need more, there’s a place nearby,” Daud added. On each mission he’d run for Corvo, he’d deposited bribe money and documents; but he never left Dunwall with his pockets full of coin, and he’d had to make use of those reserves often enough that the pouches were not overflowing with coin. Still, Corvo was glad for anything they didn’t have to take off struggling citizens to finance supplies for the Wale and their own weapons belts.

“Market first, then.” He looked around for another sign. “Up here.”

They made their way up the stairs — at the end of the corridor, Corvo chanced what was supposed to be a routine glance out the window. He was surprised to find someone lounging on a rickety sofa in the shop’s back yard.

“Hey,” the stranger said, “you. Come here.” Her voice was rough from smoking, and her arms were covered with intricate tattoos — Corvo recognised many of the markings from descriptions and sketches occasionally attached to reports he’d received, some from Daud. She was with the Howlers.

Corvo looked over his shoulder at Emily and Daud. Daud raised a brow and Emily shrugged. Corvo motioned for them to go ahead, then climbed out through the window.

“And you are?” he asked plainly.

“My name’s Mindy Blanchard,“ she introduced herself. “And I have something that might… interest you. You scratch my ass, I’ll scratch yours.”

“How do you know my ass needs scratching?”

“You look like someone who goes into places where he doesn’t belong,“ she told him drily.

Corvo regarded her for a moment. “Alright. How about you help me get out to Addermire Institute.”

*

Emily and Daud waited for him outside to avoid being seen; but they needn’t have worried. Blanchard knocked on the back door of the shop once Corvo had taken the deal.

“Jeorge will be by tonight, Petro,” she called and didn’t wait for a response before brushing past Corvo to leave, cigar smoke trailing after her. Corvo knew enough about the at least somewhat symbiotic relationship between the Howlers and black market dealers in Karnaca to figure that this was part reassurance, part threat not to go skimming while no-one was watching. He spared a thought to wonder just how quickly the Hatters would try to exploit his and Daud’s absence back in Dunwall. The Whalers would not be able to keep the entire city in line without the spectre of the Masked Felon and the Knife, he wagered.

Corvo unlocked the back gate and found his way up towards a house that, even from several yards away, he could hear buzzing with the low drone of bloodfly nests. He stepped up next to Daud.

“How bad is it?”

Daud gestured to the body of a young man on the ground a few feet away. “Had to pull him out through the window. He must have been dead for a few hours at least. The entire building’s been seized and condemned; not like Luca cares enough to send proper clean-up crews.“ He scoffed. “This is just as foolish as Burrows’ Dead Counter proposal; sending civilians to clean out infestations like this.”

Corvo hummed. “I don’t know about you, but when we were kids, we used to throw rocks at these nests.”

“Of course you did.” Daud turned to Emily. “Corvo and I can take care of this and meet you on the other side of the Wall of Light, if you want to scope out the checkpoint.”

She nodded. “What did that woman want?“ she asked Corvo, who suppressed a sigh. Emily’s tone was neutral and clipped, and she wouldn’t face him fully when she spoke. They would have to address this — but now was not the time, he told himself, ignoring the niggling voice at the back of his mind that reminded him that there _wouldn’t_ be any time to discuss this if something were to happen to either of them. This fool’s errand certainly had all the makings of a terrible mistake. But Emily wanted Hypatia safe first, to free her for her own sake, for one thing, but also to help stabilise the district by having someone left on hand who could treat Bloodfly Fever with any kind of success.

“She had a deal for me. I took it,” Corvo repaid Emily’s curt tone in kind. Next to him, Daud shifted, their shoulders brushing. He relented, a little. “Daud and I can take care of it — she just wants us to fetch a body and deliver it to her. In exchange, she can take care of the carriage rails leading to Addermire Station.”

“Alright,” Emily said, reaching up once more to make sure her scarf was secure. “Let’s meet on top of the boulevard, then.” She _nodded_ at them, sending some more familiar pain through Corvo. She was angry, had a right to be, and she was letting them feel it. She turned on her heel and left, making her way past a small group of civilians and then reaching through the Void to land on some pipes on the building opposite.

“We deserved that,” Daud rumbled.

“We did.”

“Where’s that body Blanchard wants you to get?” Daud asked then, and Corvo turned to look at him in surprise.

“You recognised her?”

“Not many Howlers around who can make that kind of deal without Paolo’s permission. Blanchard’s his right hand — I’ve heard her voice before. Heard stories about her, too.”

Corvo didn’t doubt that. “The body’s not far from here.”

“Good.” Daud made to move towards the window.

“Inside the Overseer outpost.”

Daud stopped in his tracks. Then turned. “The Overseer outpost? The outpost absolutely crawling with Overseers?”

Corvo nodded.

Daud sighed. “Alright. Come on, let’s throw some rocks.”

Half an hour later, Daud angrily shot an incendiary bolt he had picked up on their way towards the top of the building into a terrarium swarming with bloodflies.

“Nestkeepers?” he growled. “Those are _real_? I know I haven’t been in Karnaca in a few months, but I didn’t think it would deteriorate this badly this fast.”

Corvo, meanwhile, was dragging the unconscious body towards the other side of the room. At least, Corvo assumed this had once been a man. The creature was so emaciated it was difficult to tell. _Speaking of symbiotic relationships_ , he thought to himself.

“Found the key,“ Daud announced from where he was digging through the smouldering remains of the terrarium. “Should we pay a visit to the black market shop again and get the location of those sunken crates?”

“I’m not desperate for a swim,” Corvo muttered, checking out the back room. Pleased to find more sleep darts, he pocketed all those that still held enough diluted venom to be viable.

“After this mess, I am.”

* * *

 

At the Grand Guard checkpoint, Emily did not only find guards — she found snitches, too. Two of the guards were harassing a civilian, a third guard sitting up a flight of stone steps, by the windmill that kept the Wall of Light operational. Just _weeks_ after Delilah taking over the throne, Luca had not yet returned Serkonos and was already leaving his soldiers roam absolutely unchecked; certainly much worse than he’d dared when Emily had still been able to raise sanctions through Gristol’s Parliament and trade commissions. _Raise sanctions_ , Emily thought bitterly to herself. How mightily she missed even the bureaucracy of her office now.

She had arrived on the scene too late to take out all three soldiers one by one, and would have been reluctant to spare the sleep darts to begin with, but there was always another way. She took a gamble, reached for a corner of a fishmonger’s stall in the guards’ blind spot, pulled herself through the Void and down. She hadn’t spoken to Corvo and Daud since the night before; but if she’d been inclined to, she might have told them how tearing through the Void bound by a thread made of air and magic felt… exhilarating. She knew enough about these powers, and about the Void, to know not to take them lightly; nor to discount the cost that may reveal itself. Daud had suffered at the hands of the Void, Delilah had cut Corvo off from his abilities and it had been enough to bring him to his knees. This magic they wielded, it had long become part of them; and neither of them seemed sure whether it made them more than human, or simply more like monsters.

Staggering a little upon landing, Emily quickly righted herself. She’d blinked along with Whalers during training, and even a few times with Corvo, but this felt different and it seemed to her it would take a little getting used to. Only, she didn’t have much time for that. She blindly grabbed the nearest empty bottle, then pulled herself up onto the pipes again. Waiting a moment, taking a breath as she knew the Whalers to have been instructed by Daud countless times, no matter how long they’d carried the Bond for, she reached again and hauled herself up onto the windmill. She only had seconds left before the guards might decide to just push that man into the Wall of Light to be vaporised, and she wouldn’t let it happen. Satisfied she was well enough out of sight, she drew back her arm and hurled the bottle in the opposite direction, down some steps leading towards the canal. All three guards reared around — the civilian they’d been threatening stood, paralysed and frightened, and Emily bit back a curse when he would not move.

Eventually, however, he recovered from his shock and used the moment’s distraction to run, pelting past his attackers and towards the crowded docks.

“What was that?“

“Better have a look around!”

The guards below were finally rallying to do some scouting, and Emily was not foolish enough to stay where she was. Leaning to the side, she spied vents and pipes that would serve her purpose well enough. Only one of the balconies on the other side of that building was shuttered. Emily made her way over, and then crouched down on the balcony, just shy of sticking her nose into the room attached to it, when she froze.

“This building is sealed off by order of the Abbey,“ a voice said in a berating tone. “You will be barred from entering while we conduct our search.”

The voice was dulled by distance and several walls, but she also heard steps close to her — she leaned around the corner and spotted another Overseer currently inspecting a shelf filled with books and trinkets. The rest of the room was a mess — cabinets had been overturned, floorboards torn up. There was a woman’s voice now, too, raised in protest, so Emily seized her chance. Not wasting any time, she reached across the room, reappearing right behind the Overseer. Sticking the landing this time, she immediately took him into a chokehold, pulling him backwards with her. When he finally went limp in her arms, she hauled him up over her shoulder. Casting about briefly, she decided to leave him on the bed. Quickly loosening a pouch of coin from his belt with light fingers, she left him where he was and sought cover behind the wall separating the small bedroom nook from the living room.

Having gotten rid of the civilian, the second Overseer was now entering the apartment. She could hear him calling out to his brother.

“Guard your mind, Brother. The occult works in nefarious ways, and seeks to ensnare us with dark promises!” Upon receiving no reply, he seemed to hesitate. “Brother?” Silence, then, muttering: “Oh you haven’t bent your knee at the shrine, have you.” Decisive steps came closer, then halted again. “Hmm, left undisturbed. But he couldn’t have come past me…”

The Overseer didn’t get much further in his wondering, as Emily aimed more or less blindly to reach up behind him. She left him on the ground at her feet, too preoccupied with what she’d completely missed upon her first journey through the room but was all but clouding her senses now: the song of whalebone.

She’d often heard the Whalers talk of runes and bonecharms singing when she was young, but she’d never truly understood it. If they could hear it, why couldn’t anyone else? She’d found a rune at the shores of the Wrenhaven once, at the Hound Pits, and she’d kept it out of curiosity, mostly, and if she were entirely honest, some envy, too. Young Emily had wanted to hear those songs herself. But instead of songs, the rune had only brought her nightmares — of the ghost in her tower, the boy with black eyes, the one she had finally met the night before. She’d given the rune to Corvo all those years ago. But these, now, lying there on the shrine before her… they were hers. If she wanted them. Next to the shrine leaned a painting, and she immediately recognised the style as Sokolov’s and his most favourite, if also most elusive, subject. The Outsider.

On the ground, beneath one of the torn-up floorboards, there was a bone charm. It was singing, too, whispering to her, words she could not understand and could not yet quite believe she should, or wanted to. So often she’d pestered Corvo with questions about the Void, especially during Daud’s captivity. Now, all the answers laid before her, or so it seemed, and she could not quite bring herself to grab the bloodox by its horns.

No matter how strongly the runes tried to draw her in, all she could think of when she saw the shrine now was the one she’d found her mother’s beating heart upon, just waiting for her. In the Void, she had used it to find the runes laid out there, and the Heart had whispered to her how to use them. But she couldn’t have gotten rid of it soon enough, had pawned it off on Corvo and Daud, without… without sparing a thought for how it must have felt for _them_. Shame burnt inside her at the reminder, but it was drowned out by the anger she still felt.

Anger that didn’t stop with them, either. She regarded the face of the Outsider, eternally young and yet impossibly old, captured in the most expensive oil paints the Empire had to offer. His black eyes lacked a soul as much on canvas as they did in the Void.

The runes called out to her, but she would not heed their song. Not this time.

She did pick up the bonecharm.

Emily had left the windmill alone, unwilling to spook the guards even more. They’d settled down in the time it had taken her to clear out the apartment — in the process, she’d found a few interesting things. Namely, the silvergraph of a woman that looked a lot like the one who’d talked to Corvo at the black market. Emily had only caught a scant glimpse of her over Corvo’s shoulder, but she was sure. And there was a letter, too.

> _Nice tattoo you have on your back, Amadeo. Where did you find the original drawing? Want to chat about it?_
> 
> _Come to the Crone's Hand in the Dust District and ask for Mindy. You won't regret your time._

So her name was Mindy. And if Amadeo’s place was crawling with Overseers, what might be the chances that his was the body Corvo and Daud had been tasked with retrieving?

* * *

 

Daud, as a rule, steered clear of both Holger Square and any Overseer outposts in the Isles as well as he could. Sometimes, granted, infiltration was simply imperative, and more then than ever he lived by the very straightforward motto of ‘in and out, and we both forget about it in the morning.’

Thus, to sneak into one of the busiest outposts in all of Karnaca and to steal a _body_ seemed the height of folly.

Of course, they did it anyway.

Upon delivery, Mindy Blanchard whistled sharply, then also handed them some spare elixirs and vials of Addermire Solution for their trouble. “I’ve just sent one of my boys to disable the power lines to the carriage rails. You can get to the station overhead now; downstairs’s crawling with the Grand Guard.” She sent Daud a shrewd look. “You know, I never thought I’d see that face in person. And if I did, I didn’t expect to be alive to tell the tale.“

Daud raised a brow at her. “I’d rather you not tell tales now, either.” He was under no illusion, however: she _would_ tell Paolo. And she knew he knew it, too.

“So where’s the Empress?” Mindy asked, now beginning to heap soil onto the body. Corvo and Daud exchanged a glance. Before either of them could answer, however, someone else did.

“She’s right here. Mindy, right?“ Emily stalked in, all poise and determination, and Daud had never seen her look so much taller than the door she’d come through.

“Aye,” Mindy said, pausing in her shovelling, giving Emily a probing look. “Really dragged your Lord Protector all the way to Karnaca, did you?“

“Needs must,” Emily answered, equally sizing Blanchard up. “He doesn’t like standing still.”

Mindy hummed, then resumed the makeshift burial. “So you’ll be trying to get into Addermire.”

“Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

Mindy hummed again. “Perhaps.” She sent Emily another glance, and Daud had also never felt so much on the outs of a conversation. “Stick with the Howlers, my friends.“

Taking that as a dismissal, Daud nodded at Corvo and Emily to get back outside.

“Hypatia’s apartment is just across from Addermire Station,” he told Emily once they were out of earshot and safe from any civilians’ — or guards’ — curious glances. “Corvo and I should go and pay a visit. While we’re there, we can also cause a little distraction, making it easier for you to get away and across the bay. Once we’re done here, we’ll take another detour through the district and then rejoin Meagan at the skiff. Once the watch tower’s down, we’ll be there.”

“Sounds good,” Emily agreed. Then, without another word, she turned to leave, but Corvo held her back with a hand on her arm.

“Be careful. Please.”

Emily nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Meagan's salty and RIGHTLY SO.  
> b) Corvo and Daud are husbands embarrassing their daughter, and they know it.  
> c) Mindy and Emily very much appreciate each other's... energy.


	8. Chapter Five — And Ask You Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you feel the hunger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shrines! Addermire! Secrets and mystery!
> 
> Welcome back to another episode of It's Always Sunny in Karnaca; this week Emily's breaking into Addermire, the Outsider's dispensing his signature shit advice, and Corvo and Daud are going full Bonnie and Clyde.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Become the Beast, by Karliene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOcxpz5HZ8Y&index=71&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

Causing a ruckus from the balcony of Hypatia’s apartment was almost too easy — getting inside proved a tad more difficult, as the building was being watched from almost all angles by half a dozen Grand Guard soldiers, most of them assigned to Addermire Station; which afforded them an excellent view of the place Corvo and Daud were trying to get into. Actually obtaining the key then involved several flights of stairs, observing a restless safe seller for more than five minutes, and Daud twirling a stun mine in his hands. Just in case.

He didn’t need it, in the end, but it was a close enough thing. Safe merchants seemed to be plagued with a particular affliction of the trade: the clicking turn of a dial turned them in the direction of the noise — and this one was hosting a _contest_. After having to retreat from the safe and into the back room three times, with Daud growing increasingly unnerved and Corvo tilting his head further each time, Daud had enough. He bent time, turned the dials to the combination Corvo had whispered into his ear after getting his hands into the register while the shopkeeper was talking to the guard outside, and then made his escape.

“Don’t say it,” he growled as he handed Corvo one of the ingots and some ammunition. He inspected the bonecharm, hissing in his hands. It was a single, more common here in the South than in Gristol or Morley. An experienced carver could combine two or more charms into one, increasing the overall potency and allowing the wearer to combine complementing traits. Daud had never picked it up, but who knew. Perhaps Emily would show some aptitude for it.

Hypatia’s apartment was sparsely furnished, and more of the space dedicated to her research than actually living in it. Planters greeted them upon entering, there was a long workbench with samples where otherwise a small bedroom would have been, and Daud had the sneaking suspicion that, when she had formerly spent time here, Hypatia had spent her nights on the uncomfortable-looking sofa, or simply not slept at all. Tucked behind it was a crate with vials of Addermire Solution. As he’d given the ones they’d received from Blanchard to Emily, Daud pocketed two, one for himself and one for Corvo.

Corvo had taken up station by the far door to the balcony that ran the entire length of the house; armed with two bottles of chloroform and his mask pushed up onto his head for fear of the sunlight reflecting off the sewn metal and tipping off the guards on the other roof to their position.

”You may want to step back from the window,“ Corvo advised. Daud did so, and Corvo flashed him a quick grin. Then, he threw both bottles in a wide arc. They heard glass smashing from below, surprised shouts, and more alarmed voices as at least three guards must have fainted on the spot. “That should give Emily a window of opportunity. And we should get out of here.“

“After you.”

*

Daud had been well aware of the Heart beating faster as they’d come closer to the safe down in the shop — it was partly why he’d volunteered to open it; not that Corvo had commented. It had been altogether strange, seeing Corvo tucking the artefact back into his coat with a practised motion; so much like fifteen years ago that Daud had nearly taken to pinching himself. But it was real, it was now. On their way back towards the docks, he hesitated. Emily had left runes behind, he could feel it, could sense one of them very close; but that wasn’t why. He wondered, instead. Had Jessamine ever even been to Karnaca, perhaps travelling with her father Euhorn? And what would she make of it now? What would _the Heart_ make of it now?

He’d barely finished the thought when, without warning, Jessamine’s voice drifted on the wind.

_Corvo… where is Emily? Why has she left me behind?_

“Jess,” Corvo said quietly, drawing the Heart from his coat. “It’s not—she’ll come around. You’ll see.”

_She feels so lost, I know it. So lonely. She’s the rightful Empress, but she’s still a grieving child, too._

Daud swallowed, uncertain he should speak. But he had to. There was unfinished business between them. “Were you in the Void all this time?”

_Daud… I remember the last day I saw you, out behind the tower._

Daud and Corvo exchanged a glance. It seemed difficult for her to speak, her voice sounded… worn out. Tired.

_I’m sorry_ , the Heart sighed. _It’s been so long, and I am… unsure. Of where I am. Of who I am._ Another tense silence passed. _There is a shrine nearby. He would speak with you, if you would listen._

*

The Heart led them to a building close to the Overseer outpost. They had to bypass the Wall of Light a second time to get inside, past three patrolling guards and a distraught-looking civilian. Climbing over vents, pipes, and inside through the balcony, the first thing they saw was two Overseers, unconscious; one on the narrow bed in the corner. The other, in front of a shrine.

“Emily was here,” Corvo observed the obvious.

“But she didn’t touch the shrine.“ Daud withdrew a knife from his belt. “Nor this Void-damned painting.” Neatly, he cut it out of its frame, intent on selling it through one of Meagan’s contacts. He’d seen it once too often back in Dunwall, years ago, he had no wish to hold on to it now.

_Corvo gave you that knife,_ Jessamine’s disembodied voice spoke from behind him. Daud turned, and found Corvo standing in the middle of the room, the Heart in one hand while looking through a stack of files with the other.

“He did. I don’t go anywhere without it,” Daud returned quietly.

_Good_ , she answered plainly, but he recognised the warmth in her voice.

Quite against his will, Daud smiled. Then, he rolled up the canvas and shoved the painting into a pocket of his coat. He hoped to be rid of it soon, or the black-eyed bastard’s soulless gaze might burn a hole right through the fabric.

Corvo stepped up beside him.

“You want to do the honours?”

Daud sighed. Then, he reached for the runes atop the shrines. There were two, as if those seeking the Void’s favour thought that their offerings had been lacking in scale before, not in kind.

_Oh. It’s you_.

Daud would have scoffed at the Outsider doing his utmost to sound _surprised_ if he hadn’t still been caught in the throes of nausea. The Outsider hadn’t merely kept his nose out of their business for fourteen years, he had also… made some adjustments to his methods.

_I see Emily did not want to take her mother with her._

That haughty observation was enough to pique Daud’s righteous fury.

“You promised Corvo she would find peace!” he snarled.

_I told you only that the Heart should return to where it belonged. I gave you leverage, and I promised_ _nothing_ , the Outsider returned coldly, and Daud clenched his fists.

“Don’t play coy,” Corvo growled. “Why didn’t you warn us Delilah was coming? Where _were_ you?” Questions neither of them had thought to ask the night before.

The Outsider tilted his head. _I do not interfere in the affairs of others_ , the Void god said at length.

Daud did scoff this time. “That’s a nice physician’s oath you’ve got there. You might want to check it for holes.”

_Karnaca was a lovely city once, before the Duke began choking the life out of the place_ , the Outsider ignored what he said, as usual, and began pacing up and down in front of them _. Before the Crown Killer started painting the walls red. Now you're here and I have to wonder whether you're going to give it that final nudge, or pull it back from the edge. We've all three seen cities go bad before. Vermin, blood and betrayal. It's happening again. I hope you're ready. I hope your Empress is, for what’s waiting for her at Addermire._

“What do you mean?” Corvo asked darkly.

Daud felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach.

* * *

 

Emily’s journey to Addermire was objectively short, but with the current making any approach than via the Institute’s docks impossible, the watch tower dashed any and all hopes of a less noisy arrival — and she didn’t fancy a swim, either. To her good fortune, nothing greeted her but abandoned luggage and, curiously enough, an abundance of mannequins; as though guarding their previous owners’ prized possessions. She had to wonder if the people all these things had once belonged to had ever even made it out.

She had seen paintings of Addermire, built into the rock — a tall, sprawling structure, further expanded when Hypatia had petitioned the old Duke for funds to reform the old solarium into a treatment and research facility. Built from white sandstone, it must have once gleamed in the sun. Now, it looked craggy and marked by disrepair. The rotten leaves fallen from withered flowers had not been gathered and cleared away, and it seemed the dust from the silver mines had eventually reached as far as here, covering everything in grey. Iron railings were broken, rust had settled in, and the well-polished carriage looked out of place underneath the arrival bay’s dirt-covered canopy.

She looked up towards the main building, with its tall windows, ornate iron gratings, and stingray sculptures — common features of Serkonan architecture that felt so foreign to her when perhaps they shouldn’t. She’s grown up in a city made of sharp angles and dark stone; but it knew beauty, too. Emily loved Dunwall, for all that it took from her and her family. It had _been_ taken from her, now, and she wanted it back. Still, she felt as though she should know Karnaca better, its winding streets and tightly-packed quarters. Both her fathers had grown up here, in the heat and the dust. Emily’s hair was sticking to her forehead already, and she’d hardly done any taxing work. Yet.

She had to get Alexandria out of here.

Enough sight-seeing, she decided. Daud had given her the run-down of what he remembered of Addermire while it had been renovated and he’d stayed here for a while after contracting pneumonia during High Cold; helping Hypatia get settled and, if Emily knew him at all, keeping an eye on the rest of the personnel to make sure they were trustworthy. She took a left, up the stairs, halting when she heard voices from inside.

“I saw one of the Crown Killer crime scenes, before I got transferred to Addermire,” one guard said to the other. “I wouldn’t go back to that assignment for anything. Whoever tore that old couple apart, they were enjoying it.”

“And Addermire’s the better assignment? Strange noises at night? Blood on the windows? Guards missing after shift change? We can’t even let the hounds out anymore ‘cause they’re too keyed up by the smell of bloodflies. And that’s not all: I _saw_ something, and it didn’t move like a person. Just thinking about it keeps me up at night. Something’s wrong here.”

“Request more men, then, if you’re so scared. The Duke’ll send more. He keeps his eye on Addermire.“

“To what end? Until whatever’s holed up in here kills us all? As long as Hypatia’s not allowed to leave, we aren’t either.”

His squad mate’s reply was drowned out by a terrible clanging, then an announcement over the speakers:

> _“Grand Guard Personnel: Shift change is at midnight. Miss the boat and you get another shift, without pay.”_

Charming.

* * *

 

Emily took her time exploring the grounds and, eventually, the inside of the Institute; and the more she saw, the more she _found_ , the more a terrible sense of foreboding settled within her. She found more Grand Guard soldiers, spooked by the sinister atmosphere of their assignment; and frightened civilians, too. From Daud, she knew that Addermire had been built and expanded for at least 50 permanent staff members. Of those, there were barely even half a dozen left.

She discovered one of the missing guards — with several of his limbs rent away, and a letter next to him; from his fiancée, begging him to keep his suspicions to himself until his transfer to another district was approved. She found guards speculating on Hypatia leaving the Institute without anyone noticing or being there to stop her; guards questioning their officers and being rebuked on pain of death and dishonour if they didn’t keep their mouths shut. She found Hamilton, the handyman, beaten near to a pulp and held by two soldiers, whose every intent Emily did not believe for a second was merely to ‘question’ him. There were letters home to families, assuring them that it ‘really wasn’t so bad as people said.’

> _“Grand Guard personnel: On orders from the Duke, anyone discussing Addermire with non-authorised persons will be court-martialled and imprisoned.”_

Emily had every reason to believe it was _exactly_ as bad as people said. The torn-up bodies that she’d found… they bore the mark of the Crown Killer. Of course, she did not have any proof — but with what the guards were whispering to each other… was Addermire harbouring a killer? And if so, what did Hypatia know about all this? 

In Hypatia’s office, she found the key to the Recuperation wing; and an audiograph:

> _The blackouts are worse, and my dreams have taken a turn toward the disturbing. Even rest eludes me. Duke Abele seemed overprotective at first, but increasingly I'm a prisoner in my own lab. The soldiers stationed here leave me alone, but even then I feel like I'm being watched._
> 
> _What really saddens me is the loss of my work. I've always thrived on my connection to the people who need me the most. The workers and their families. Each time I hear there's been an outbreak of some fever, or new condition among the miners, it pains me that I am not with them, working to ease their suffering._

When Luca had first restricted access to Addermire and the decree made public, back in Dunwall they’d believed that Luca wanted Hypatia to focus all of her attention on finding a cure for bloodfly disease. It was no secret he did not care about the miners, but that he cared very much for himself and his powerful friends. Now, it also seemed he was forcing Hypatia to hide, perhaps care for, the assassin he sent out to do his dirty work to discredit Emily’s rule. But what was worse: this suggested that something was wrong with Hypatia herself. It made Emily wonder, if it was indeed as she feared, what methods Luca was employing to make her do his bidding — Hypatia would never willingly do such a thing.

*

In searching the private rooms up on the roof of the main building, Emily hesitated when she felt that familiar tug again. The hissing seemed even louder, as though whatever lay behind the connecting door knew that she was loathe to know it. But she opened the door, found a bonecharm — and a shrine.

Emily hadn’t woken the first shrine she’d found, out in the district. She didn’t want to have to talk to the Outsider; nor to face the Void. She knew, with some perverse certainty, that Corvo and Daud would pick up after her, would search for runes and charms and let them have her. But here, at Addermire… she had no way of knowing if she’d ever come back here. Her skin itched with the potential she knew lay in these runes. She needed them. And there was no running from this thing she chose, she knew that, too. She reached out.

_Hello, Emily._ The Outsider regarded her with dark eyes. _I see you have decided to heed the call_.

“What else was I supposed to do?” she asked, mostly for the sake of it.

_You know, I so enjoy watching history warp as words pass from the lips of one to the ears of another. Imperfectly formed, half understood, poorly remembered. In the years to come, the story of the Crown Killer will be twisted and bent; hammered like soft metal. By some accounts, a monster that had to be put down. By others, a victim of treachery, preserved because in the end you found another way. But you'll always remember the truth won't you? Your truth, at least._

Hadn’t Daud once crossly referred to the Void’s deity as a ‘cryptic little shit’? Emily understood why, now. But at least she’d found something else to be true.

“Hypatia knows who the Crown Killer is, doesn’t she?” The weight of betrayal sat heavy in her heart.

_I believe Corvo has taught you enough about detective work._ The Outsider moved a hand as if to dismiss her, but then stopped. _You haven’t spoken to your mother, have you?_

Emily ground her teeth. “That _thing_ is not my mother.”

_You fathers feel differently._

“Then why did they keep her from me?” she returned bitterly. Another question, more accusing, rose within her. “Why did you trap her here?”

_I do not decide who remains in the Void and who moves on. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to endeavour to make Delilah stay._

“Tempted?”

_Meddling is not my forte._

“You wouldn’t call this meddling?” Emily raised her marked hand.

The Outsider smiled, and it was an unsettling sight. She half expected sharp teeth to grin at her. _You chose this, Empress. And you’d do well to remember: you see the darkness only when the light spills out around it._

With that, the Void disappeared around her and she was left, alone, in a musty room.

“What does that _mean_?“ she growled.

She received no answer.

> _“Fifth Lieutenant Mikos, report to the duty officer as soon as you've finished your current patrol.”_

The announcement startled Emily out of her frustration. She checked the dusty alarm clock in the corner that, by some miracle, was still going. She’d spent hours exploring Addermire — the only thing left for her to do now was to save Hypatia and, if such a thing was possible, the Crown Killer. Or, failing that… to execute them both.

* * *

 

It had been years since Emily had last seen Hypatia; after she’d left Dunwall, she’d returned to Gristol only a few times. The last time had been six years ago. Corvo and Daud had attributed to her reluctance to leave Addermire for any length of time — no-one would have ever questioned Hypatia’s commitment to helping those who needed her treatments. She’d worked closely with Aramis Stilton and Lucia Pastor before the former had gone missing and the latter had been forced to watch as her friend was consigned to Addermire seemingly indefinitely. Now, Emily was certain that, whatever had happened to Hypatia, had already begun then.

Taking a deep breath, Emily unlocked the door to Recuperation, opened it — and nearly doubled over, heaving. The stench was indescribable: rotting flesh, the metallic tang coming from bloodfly nests; decay and disease permeated the air. Whatever secret the Duke was guarding at Addermire, he was prepared to let it run to ruin for it. Close to the doors lay a body and, next to the corpse, a few bottles of liquor and incendiary ammunition, easily distinguished by the slim vials of processed whale oil slotted into the bolts. Apparently, some of the guards stationed had at least tried to contain the infestation; but had paid dearly for their initiative.

Emily picked up the bolts, then the bottles. The closer she got, the louder the buzzing became, drowning out all but her own thoughts. She counted three large nests immediately visible, but there were likely many more around the corner. She checked her pouches for pistol ammunition. Ten bullets. It would have to do; but she’d use those last. Too much noise, and she’d have the whole house down.

Methodically, she made her way through the room. The two sides were separated by a private recovery room in the middle, and solarium chambers on either side, with more solarium chambers tucked into a side room. There, Emily found a memorandum:

> _Lumino-therapy appointments for the morning of 2nd Day, Month of Timber, 1849, approved by Dr. Vasco._
> 
> _Mrs. Anita Cardona: 2 hours_
> 
> _Mr. Roberto Garcia: 5 hours_
> 
> _Serve Mr. Garcia some valerian tea to ease his cough every hour. Please schedule a session for him this afternoon as well._
> 
> _Mr. Andrew McAlistair: 2 hours_
> 
> _Mr. Emilio Molinero: 2 hours_
> 
> _Ms. Lucia Pastor: half an hour_
> 
> _The Patient is pregnant and in very weak condition, be sure not to exceed the prescribed time. Apply some leche thistle lotion before and after the session._
> 
> _Mrs. Camilla Durante: 2 hours_

1849… three years since patients had been treated regularly. Emily frowned at another detail when she read the schedule over again. Lucia Pastor had been with child. Emily knew that Pastor’s husband had been among the casualties in a mining disaster that year. She sighed. Daud had met with Pastor several times, but had never mentioned a pregnancy, or a child. Pastor must have lost the child shortly after this, when the treatments either failed or could not continue due to the closure of Addermire to the public. Why was there only ever more suffering?

Emily pocketed the note, hissing when her fingers brushed against the runes hidden in the folds of her coat. In the Void, the night before, the Heart had whispered to her to let the runes’ song guide her, to let them show her how to proceed; and something about them had made Emily picture a light in the darkness, of seeing things she shouldn’t — or couldn’t — with a mere mortal’s eyes. Remembering Corvo’s instructions, to let the Void reach for her and to let it take, Emily had closed her eyes and, quite without truly thinking about it, laid the two runes she’d collected back upon the altar. She’d cut her palm, reminded for one moment of when she’d done the same thing during the fight with Zhukov not even a year ago. Upon being touched by her blood, the runes began to glow and to steam. Like a puppet on a string, Emily had felt herself jerked forward, breathing in the smoke, tasting bile at the back of her throat but not moving away. When she’d opened her eyes again, the runes had been gone. She’d clenched her fist, her Mark set to burning under her skin. She’d since discovered that her new abilities let her see through walls, a power she knew Daud called Void Gaze.

The runes she was carrying now, then — and there were sure to be a few she’d missed — whispered of the Void, of shadows, of transformation. She remembered wondering, when they’d escaped Dunwall Tower, what she would have to become in order to take back her throne and save her city. This, perhaps, was the answer: a monstrous shadow, a silent stalker in the dark.

But this was not the time. The door to Hypatia’s lab lay just beyond.

*

Emily went down the stairs carefully, listening for sounds from below. All she could hear was someone shifting about and the clinking sounds of lab equipment. The closer she came, however, she realised that the stench of death wasn’t only following her from the recuperation suite, it was coming from inside the lab as well. At the foot of the stairs, she didn’t turn left but right, where a large glass window afforded her a look into a small office; and what she saw had her cover her mouth with her hand — to silence a gasp, to keep bile from rising, she did not know. Stepping closer, she shuddered: mounted on the walls were severed arms, hands, and legs, framed upon canvas as though assembling a gruesome collection. The centrepiece was a painting of Hypatia, but not in Sokolov’s familiar brushwork.

_Delilah_.

On the far wall were mounted maps and papers — Dunwall, several locations marked off. Emily had never truly considered how close the Crown Killer had come to Dunwall Tower the night they murdered Ichabod Boyle.

And now, she was even closer.

Emily turned and, forcing her hand away from the hilt of her sword, walked around the corner and into the lab proper.

“Dr Hypatia?“ she asked, careful not to startle her. “Alexandria?”

Eventually, Hypatia turned, and Emily fought to keep her eyes on her face and not her hands, fingers buried in the innards of a bloodfly. Emily knew that Addermire Solution included an infinitesimal dose of bloodfly venom — the same way Sokolov and Piero’s elixir was only effective because they’d experimented with Plague-infected rats — but she had not been looking forward to such a visceral reminder.

“Are you a patient of mine?“ Hypatia asked, and Emily nearly startled at the sound of her voice. Hypatia had always been soft-spoken, but here she sounded different. Meek, and too quiet. Despondent and lost. “I’m sorry, I-I should know that.”

“I’m here to ask you about something,” Emily said, taking an involuntary step back when Hypatia came closer, lifting her hands.

“Do you cover your face because you were hurt?“ Hypatia asked, and Emily caught her wrists, her stained fingertips so close to her face. “The afflictions we treat here are more common that anyone likes to admit. Shh. Do you hear that?”

Emily swallowed. “I’m here because of the Crown Killer.”

“The Crown Killer? That name came from the newspapers. I’m afraid I don’t… oh, yes, the murders. I was in Dunwall, studying diseases found among whaling crews.“

Emily watched, worried, as Hypatia slowly became more erratic, her movements jittery, turning back to the work bench.

“ _You_ were in Dunwall?”

“I keep forgetting things. But I must say, the Crown Killer is an interesting case. I feel almost sure I could help with that.” As she spoke, Hypatia tore one of the organs out of the bloodfly carcass — and unceremoniously handed it to Emily. Too nonplussed not to instinctively accept the ‘gift,’ Emily took it gingerly, then dropped it on the work counter the next moment and tried very hard not to think about the dead body on the slab a few mere feet behind her.

“Who is that calling me? Excuse me,” Hypatia said then, and went back to gutting the bloodfly as though Emily weren’t there at all. Emily continued to watch her — could it be true? The trophies, the painting… But everything they knew about the Crown Killer (which, admittedly, was not at all enough to fill a beastiary) suggested that they were more animal than human; a savage monster. How could a human be perverted into something so horrifying? But what could it be? Corruption of the Void? Did the Outsider have anything to do with this? Hypatia’s hands were naked, visible — unmarked. Emily had grown up on frightening stories, and not all of them had been as distant as the Knocker at the Window. She’d heard of Granny Rags, too, and when she’d been old enough, Corvo and Daud had told her the story of Vera Moray: a beautiful noblewoman, an explorer who’d accompanied her husband to Pandyssia and who’d found not only indescribable wonders but madness, too. What if the Void had driven Hypatia out of her mind?

Against her better judgement, Emily turned to explore the rest of the lab. She’d seen the office, but off towards the right were two more smaller rooms, attached to the main lab. What greeted her in the first was no more gruesome than the lab itself: a man’s head, mounted on a contraption generally used by taxidermists. His eyes were empty, but his flesh not yet turning to rot, same as the limbs she’d seen. Either these kills were fresh, or the Crown Killer — Hypatia — was taking measures to preserve them.

A low grown from her right caused Emily to turn on her heel, and then she saw: a man, lying on a low cot. His face was covered in blood-soaked bandages, as were parts of his torso and his arms. His hands looked like his fingers had been broken several times and healed more crooked each time, the knuckles swollen and deformed. Slowly, her hand returning to gripping her blade, Emily ventured closer until she was near enough to kneel by the cot.

“Are you… Vasco?” Hypatia’s assistant — going by a journal she’d found in the office, he’d been missing for weeks.

“Yes,” the figure rattled a laboured breath. “Look — if you’re here, then you already suspect the truth. Hypatia did this. She’s the Crown Killer. But it’s not her fault, and she can be saved.”

“How?“

“Go to my office in Disease Treatment. She took my key, but there’s a second one hidden in the bloodfly terrarium by the door. The combination to the safe is 8-3—”

Before Vasco could finish, a terrible shriek resounded through the lab. Emily looked up in alarm, and barely had time to shield her face before shards of glass rained down upon her. Hypatia had sent a cabinet flying through the window, knocking Emily back and burying her underneath it. She struggled, trying to wrestle free, but then she raised her gaze, and froze.

This was Hypatia, alright — and yet, not. Her eyes glowed orange like those of a beast, her hair stood on end like a predator’s hackles, and her snarling face held none of the kindness of Alexandria Hypatia. She growled, and sniffed the air, her torso following her nose like a wolfhound. Emily could only watch, then, in horror, as Vasco made to crawl through the window, trying to get away.

Hypatia turned on her heel, attracted by the sound. She growled again, and then lunged after him.

“I’ve always wondered what your flesh tastes like, my dear assistant.”

Vasco screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) It is insanely difficult to find a youtube vid of that song that ISN'T Hannibal fan content. Like, I liked that show, but geez.  
> b) You can totally see the "Hypatia is the Crown Killer, duh" twist coming in the game, but being a nosy little shit and finding that murder wall before anything else still freaked me the hell out.  
> c) Emily: THAT THING ISN'T MY MOM. Meanwhile, Corvo and Daud: Hey Jess, we love you, could you help us sniff out these runes?  
> d) Corvo and Daud are so in love, it's embarrassing. Corvo: Aww, my man's cracking a safe. Daud: Aww, my man's tossing chloroform. TRUE LOVE! It's also the only fun anyone's having in Karnaca today, let's be real.


	9. Chapter Six: The Cities They Are Broke in Half and the Middle Men are Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronting the Crown Killer takes a toll on Emily. Corvo and Daud meanwhile, travel to the Dust District to see a man about a rat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh so far in already!! Chapter 7 is coming on Monday, and then that's the end of Act I! I might take a quick break after that one, as I just returned to work after a long-ish holiday and I'm also super busy with a new project (sshhhh, top secret), but it would just be a week or two to get myself sorted. Either way, I'll keep you lot posted. ;)
> 
> Soundtrack for the Howlers: [Glory and Gore, by Lorde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSVBkD4IRhg&index=72&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

Vasco’s screams stopped abruptly.

Her heart in her throat, Emily worked to control her breathing. Before all this, she’d thought she would never find anything more frightening than what Zhukov had revealed himself to be that night of the Boyle masquerade ball. She’d have been wrong.

With a grunt, Emily fought against the weight on top of her, forced the cabinet away, and struggled free. Getting up on her hands and knees, she did her best to ignore the streaks of dried blood on the tiled floor. How long had Hypatia been torturing Vasco, dragging him back and forth between the lab and this miserable cot? She pushed herself up but stayed low — she could hear Hypatia move around in the other room, rambling. She looked into the Void to see: Hypatia was moving towards her trophy room. This was Emily’s chance. Quickly, she unlatched the lock on the door on the other side.

“I can smell you… river muck, Northern spices… _Dunwall_.” Hypatia’s voice ran chills up and down Emily’s spine. There was so little of her left; nothing of the kind and brilliant scientist Emily had known when she was a child. Her voice held bloodlust now, and her mind seemed to know no human emotion other than rage. Keeping her eyes trained on the other side of the lab, Emily relied on her memories of her surroundings to find her way forward. If she could just gain another few feet…

But then, another shriek froze Emily in place — Hypatia had turned, and was coming towards the lab. She had _seconds_ , if that. So she made a choice.

Abandoning stealth, Emily stood and reached for the Void; aiming upwards, she started running. To her right, Hypatia grunted in triumph.

“I know where you are, Princess!“

Grinding her teeth, Emily did her best to command the Void to take her where she wanted to go. She pelted towards the work counter, and Hypatia had appeared at the corner, getting ready to pounce. As soon as Emily was close enough, she leapt up. It was only in mid-air that she let go of the Void, and then landed at the top of the stairs leading down to the lab. Grunting at the impact, she had no time to contemplate broken bones. Gathering herself up as Hypatia howled in rage below, Emily started running again.

She shouldered her way through the door, not bothering with barring it, and bouldered over the dusty mounds that remained of the bloodfly nests she’d destroyed, then continued on in the direction of the exit. Mindful of the guards that she’d left unaware of her presence outside and one floor below, she threw herself to the ground when she was close enough, sliding towards the open door rather than careening through. She tumbled outside, but immediately pressed back against the door, fumbling for the key in her other coat pocket. She didn’t dare look up until the door was locked — and scrambled back when she saw a shadow move through the dusty glass.

_I mustn’t let her see me._

Without thinking much about it, Emily reached out to the Void again and, more or less blindly, let it propel her down the stairs, never stopping for a moment. She vaulted down the steps and continued on through the door, past the room where poor Hamilton still sat, head in hands, doubting his own soundness of mind. Willing her fingers not to tremble, she approached the door to Vasco’s office and private lab that she hadn’t been able to enter earlier, then drew her crossbow and equipped a steel bolt. Angling her face away, she aimed and shot at the glass of the bloodfly terrarium, shattering it. The buzz of the bloodflies, heretofore contained, now increased as they swarmed. Immediately, Emily drew her sword and swung at them, slicing through air and bloodied wings.

Once she’d cleared enough of the swarm, she dared go near the terrarium. Fishing out the key quickly, she was grateful that he had at least been able to give her the first two digits of the combination. She opened Vasco’s safe and found another key, a vial of Addermire Solution, a journal and a syringe filled with a liquid Emily assumed was the base for the counter-serum. The journal contained the ingredients and, conveniently, further instructions to make the base into an antidote. What was needed, somewhat less conveniently, was blood from an infected corpse. She cursed, but then remembered that one of the storage rooms was infested with bloodflies. Bloodfly fever had the opportunistic side effect of preserving a body, since it provided sustenance to their larvae as they grew… if she were to be any sort of lucky, there’d be a body in there, too.

She was. Suppressing a gag, Emily used the syringe to draw blood from the bloated, decaying corpse. 

Carrying the syringe back to the lab, she transferred the solution to the burner. She turned it on and tapped her fingers against the countertop as she waited for the ingredients to boil and distill. Another journal lay next to an audiograph player. Short on time but not one to restrain her curiosity, Emily flipped open the book and searched for the last entry made.

> **_Vasco’s Diary_ **
> 
> **_Month of High Cold, 1850_ **
> 
> _This is the first that I record of an event that occurred more than five years ago, in the Month of Rain. I’d put it from my mind as well as I could, but recent events have forced me to reckon with my ignorance. Wilful ignorance, perhaps._
> 
> _Alexandria's new serum must never leave Addermire, and no one must ever know of our failure._

After reading the remainder of the entry, Emily laid down the diary. 1845 — the year Daud had contracted pneumonia. He’d been _here_ , not long after this had happened. To think… Void.

Next to her, the burner turned off with a click: the solution was ready. Emily picked up the syringe again. Once she’d drawn enough of the mixture, she considered what she was about to do. Emily tried not to linger on the way Vasco had screamed. Could he have survived? Emily hoped so, if only for the sake of easing Hypatia’s guilt. There’d be enough of that in her already, if Emily succeeded in saving her. Part of her nearly wondered if it would truly be a kindness to do so.

“Let’s hope this works. For all our sakes,“ she murmured. She left Disease Treatment and headed back towards Recuperation, relieved to find that Hypatia had not forced the door, and instead retreated. Slowly, carefully, Emily made her way towards the laboratory, straining her ears, doing her best to keep her breathing even. There. She could hear her, shuffling about below. From above, Emily saw Vasco’s unmoving body, collapsed underneath the slab — she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing.

In that moment, Hypatia — Grim Alex — came creeping out from the back room, scenting the air.

“I know you’re there,” she growled, flexing her claw-like fingers, and instinctively, Emily moved back from the banister. Students must have watched from up here as Hypatia dissected bodies or conducted experiments. Now, it was her turn to watch as the Crown Killer searched for her scent, waiting to rip her apart. She crept closer again, hoping to find an opportunity to drop down behind her; but before she could even reach for her powers, Hypatia jumped up onto the viewing gallery in one standing leap.

About fifteen yards away from Emily.

Swallowing, Emily moved so that she was obscured from view by at least one of the pillars. Holding onto the Void, Emily calculated how far she had to reach. She knew it was her only chance.

One more deep breath. Then, she let go.

Landing in a crouch about a foot behind Hypatia, she let instinct take over. Instinct — for Emily, that was her fathers’ lessons, her training with the Whalers, her teenage years spent sneaking through the hallways of Dunwall Tower even past Corvo’s chambers. Clutching the syringe in her hand, she took one step, then another, her tread as silent as a cat’s. She was close enough to see the sweat pooling at Hypatia’s nape. With her next step, just as Grim Alex began to turn, Emily took her into a chokehold and jammed the needle into the side of her neck, pressing down the plunger as quickly as she could.

“No, no, no! Not back to sleep!” Grim Alex collapsed immediately, her fingers scrabbling at her neck to try and tear out the syringe; but it was too late. She went down onto her knees, groaning, moaning in what had to be agony. Eventually, she started convulsing, sinking down onto the floor and twisting onto her back. “I won’t go. I won’t give it back!” With a rattling breath, the figure on the ground stilled.

Emily hesitantly moved closer.

“Hypatia?” Kneeling next to her, she reached out. “Alexandria? Are you alright?” When Hypatia still did not respond, Emily set a hand upon her arm and gently shook her. “Hypatia!”

Finally, Hypatia stirred.

“Yes,” she muttered. “Yes, I-I’m sorry. Something’s not right with me.” Slowly, she made to sit up, and Emily moved to help her. When Hypatia looked up, she startled. “Emily? What—why? What happened to me?”

“Someone was poisoning you,” Emily decided not to draw out any explanation. They would have time to talk about everything later. For now, they had to get away. “But… Vasco, he had the counter-serum; or nearly. I found his notes and completed it.”

“Vasco! Where is he?”

Emily’s heart ached for how utterly lost Hypatia sounded.

“He’s… downstairs. I’ll go and check on him,” Emily said before Hypatia could insist to do it herself. “And then we need to get out of here. I just need to disable the watch tower first.“

“Get out? You mean, to leave?”

“Yes. I’m taking you with me, you’re not safe here.“

“And Vasco, too?”

“If he’s well enough, yes.” Emily dreaded heading down to see to Vasco, but it had to be done. Leaving Hypatia sitting up on the dusty floor, Emily decided to head down via the stairs, not to simply drop down from the banister — she did not want to give Hypatia a fright, unsure though she was of how fully aware of her surroundings Hypatia might be just then. When she arrived in the lab downstairs, and approached the slab about as carefully as she had Grim Alex. Dropping into a crouch by the body, she reached out to feel for a pulse.

He was alive. Barely, but alive.

“Oh, thank the Void,” Emily whispered. Gingerly, she rolled him over; then she reached for one of the elixirs on her belt. Tipping one down his throat, she made sure his pulse and breathing picked up a little before she decided what to do next. Hypatia would be able to walk on her own, but she’d have to carry Vasco — and she still had the watch tower to power down.

First things first, then.

* * *

 

The Dreadful Wale was becoming crowded, Corvo reflected a few days later: with Hypatia safely extracted from Addermire and Vasco under her care, it was good luck that Meagan had sold the last remaining items to free up the storage room just the week before. Together, they’d all taken turns sitting with Vasco and trying to make him as comfortable as possible while he recovered — if one could call it recovery. Every inch of his body was bruised, more bones broken than not. Grim Alex had beaten him within an inch of his life. Still, he was hanging on, if merely by a thread. Corvo had seen to him this morning, with Daud, who’d covered the night shift, greeting him in the doorway with a quick embrace and a stolen kiss. Hypatia insisted on taking care of her assistant herself, but she, too, needed all the rest she could get.

Emily had looked pale when she’d emerged from the shadows below the watch tower that day, Vasco slung over her shoulder and Hypatia trailing behind her, her step unsteady. She’d obviously taken down the searchlight last, cleanly and without alerting any of the guards to her presence. Corvo was proud of her; and not only for that. Hypatia had been the Crown Killer. That revelation still sat heavily in all of their hearts; but in none as heavily as in Hypatia’s. If she remembered all she’d — all Grim Alex had done, she’d have to live with that, and no amount of serum would be able to make her forget.

*

Later on the same day, it was time to head out once again — this time, into the Dust District. He and Daud would run reconnaissance, they’d decided, and ‘case the competition,’ as Meagan had put it.

The Overseers wouldn’t leave the district, and the Howlers couldn’t. In the meantime, the Duke had ravaged the mines for what they were worth. Dissenting voices from Morley and Tyvia were already openly questioning Delilah’s claim to the throne, and the King of Morley himself had sent envoys to Karnaca that had disappeared without a trace days into their week-long visit; the Karnaca Gazette reported. With the death of chief editor Janice Tines, some courage had returned to its editorial staff. Emily had scrambled to enquire, through deck hands and street urchins, after the names of these envoys. They had yet to receive confirmation that Wyman still remained in Caulkenny with their father and family. 

From Batista Overlook, the true extent of the damage done to the district became painfully apparent. Corvo was glad for his mask as Daud, with a grunt, pulled a black scarf over his nose and mouth when they recognised the telltale howl of wind coming down from Shindaerey Peak.

“Dust storm’s coming,” Corvo murmured. Daud nodded, turning his head down out of the wind — and seconds later, there was nothing but dust.

They knew these storms, remembered them from their youth. But back then, dust streams had been few and far between, and easily enough cleaned up after. The old Duke had regularly sent crews into the district, to make sure vents and roofs were clear. Now, the dust was piling up as high as Corvo’s chest where it had blown high against walls and into buildings. The Grand Guard had not sealed off the district _yet_ , but it could only be a matter of time.

Corvo and Daud made their way across rooftops and scaffolding. Daud had plucked a notice from one of the boards and handed it to Corvo with a raised eyebrow: an advertisement for the Crone’s Hand Saloon. Corvo remembered that place, albeit by a different name, but the directions rang familiar — it had been a place up to no good then, and if his intuition served, the Howlers were now continuing the tradition. They might as well: in Campo Seta, they had learnt that Vice Overseer Byrne was not currently in Karnaca, but was due to return in but a few days.

As they passed by the Overseer outpost, then, Daud set a hand on his arm. When Corvo turned to look at him, Daud tugged down his scarf and nodded his head in the direction of a side alley.

“You know where we are?” he asked.

Corvo followed his gaze — and stopped. How could he have forgotten? These old streets — that house. He’d been so focused on their purpose here today, he hadn’t allowed himself to wonder…

“Did you know the old Duke bought the apartment?” Daud asked quietly.

“Theodanis bought it?” Corvo was floored. No-one had ever thought to tell him.

“After your mother’s death, or perhaps after your appointment as Royal Protector. He put a plaque next to the door, and kept the apartment as it was. Occasionally, it would be open to visitors. After his father’s death, Luca let it fall into disrepair; but no-one’s bought it, either. I didn’t find out until last year.”

“Have you…?”

Daud evaded his gaze. “I was hoping that one day you’d be here to show me. When it wasn’t abandoned and full of dust.”

Fifteen years, Corvo thought. Fifteen years and this man still set his heart to aching.

“I’ll show you,” he rasped, “when there’s time.” Daud nodded. On impulse, Corvo reached out and brushed his knuckles against Daud’s temple in a brief caress. “Thank you.“

There was no time to dwell, however — they moved on, and while he was still debating the wisdom of blinking over the top of the heads of about a dozen Overseers and their wolfhounds, Corvo was distracted once again by Daud’s voice in his ear.

“There’s a bonecharm nearby.”

Of course, Daud could simply let his vision cloud over with the Void to see them, and even to distinguish runes and charms, but today neither of them needed to. Daud had asked to carry the Heart today — he’d _asked_ , and Corvo sensed that there was more in it than guilt, or the wish to ease a burden. There’d been more in his eyes than regret, no uncertainty in the way he’d accepted the artefact. Fifteen years ago, Corvo would have had to fight with himself (and, he suspected, with Daud) to share the responsibility. Now, it seemed only right.

If only Emily might feel the same.

Corvo blinked across onto the ledge of a first-floor window barred with wooden planks, just as a howl on the wind heralded another storm. Signalling over his shoulder for Daud to stay on the other balcony for another moment, Corvo readied his sword. He checked the street below for the movements of the Overseers — they, too, had heard the wind picking up and were now seeking shelter under canopies or the storm guards erected to protect the outpost itself.

When the storm hit, Corvo used the cover to hack through the planks barring the window and crept inside. He took off the hood of his coat, taking a moment to shake loose some of the dust that had found its way into his hair regardless. He probably looked even greyer now. Outside, the storm subsided, and Corvo stepped away from the window — a moment later, Daud climbed inside. Immediately, he removed his scarf entirely.

“Fuck, they’ve gotten worse,” he muttered, carding quick fingers through his hair.

Corvo hummed, looking around. There was artwork all over the walls — what looked to be sketches and designs for… tattoos. Curious, he followed the faint hissing that was audible now that they were inside. In a tiny office at the back of the room, he found not only a bonecharm mounted on the wall, but a blood amber statue, too. More drawings as well; and some of them Corvo was sure he was not seeing for the first time.

Daud appeared at his shoulder.

“Those are Howler symbols,” he said quietly.

Corvo pointed at one of the drawing boards.

“And that looks familiar, too,” he returned. “Remind you of anyone?”

Daud tilted his head.

“Shit.”

“And what are you choffers doing in here?” a sharp voice suddenly asked from behind them. They whirled around and found themselves faced with not only the sharp end of a Howler blade, but the barrel of a pistol, too. “I oughtta—what? You two?” Incredulously, Mindy Blanchard stared at them for a moment before at least lowering her blade.

“This is your place,“ Corvo deduced belatedly — of course. He’d seen her artwork before. On _her_. The intricate ink on her arm was also framed on the far wall behind her.

“It is. And you two are breaking in. Care to explain yourselves?”

Deciding to forego any excuses, Corvo jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Bonecharm.”

Mindy’s eyes narrowed. “I still need that.“ Gesturing with her hand that still held the gun, she told them to step aside. They did, and she leaned into the alcove to make certain that nothing was out of place before turning back to size them up.

“I won’t waste my time askin’ why you’re here, or where our esteemed Empress is getting into trouble today,” she drawled. “I heard enough gutter chatter about Addermire to know she must have done her job.“ With one decisive nod, she holstered her weapons. “Take a walk with me.” Without waiting for a reply, she stepped past them.

“Where are we going?“ _And do we have a choice,_ Corvo wondered.

“To see someone you should meet.”

Corvo and Daud exchanged a glance. Nothing for it, then.

“If the lady insists,” Daud returned smoothly, starting off after her. Ahead, Mindy let out an indelicate snort.

* * *

 

As few memories Daud had of the pub that had once been the Crone’s Hand Saloon, he was sure that it smelt no better than it used to under its new management. Whereas before the Howler patrols would have been at least something of a headache for them, Corvo and Daud were now led through the district, on foot and more or less undisturbed. Of course, Mindy received plenty of questions on her way; but as Paolo’s lieutenant, none dared bar her approach. Still Daud felt the curious glances as well as the hostile glares. Coming closer, they could hear the intermittent — and literal — howling. _Like wolves pining for the moon_ , Daud thought. _Only it’s bright daylight and they’re making right fools of themselves_.

“What the fuck, Blanchard?” One Howler did finally step into their path at the entrance of the Crone’s Hand. “Who are they?”

“Someone you don’t want to piss off, with your shit-faced aim,” Blanchard shot back. Some of the other Howlers loitering around the courtyard laughed. “Let me through.”

The Howler shrugged. “It’s your funeral.” She stepped aside to let them pass.

“Just promise me you won’t sing,“ Blanchard obviously couldn’t resist having the last word as she went.

Corvo and Daud followed, wisely not saying a word. Through a narrow hallway and out into a small courtyard, they found the tap and bar of the Crone’s Hand; and they weren’t around the corner yet when Daud recognised a familiar melody.

> _Now come young sailor, learn from my trials_
> 
> _If y'dream of sailin' the Empire of the Isles_
> 
> _It's a tale of hard times, with death ev'ry day_
> 
> _So don't believe one word that captain might say_
> 
> _Wind blow us over this inky black wave_
> 
> _Brother protect me from a watery grave_

The song came to a close just as they entered, Mindy two steps ahead of them and already making her way to the bar, bold as brass. Daud could see why Paolo would have no-one else as his right hand.

“Paolo,” Mindy began, “got someone you should meet. Two someones, actually.“

“And who’s that?” Paolo stood behind the bar, polishing a glass. Daud had seen sketches of him, but never the man himself, or heard his voice. He was younger, it seemed, than his weathered face suggested. As Daud and Corvo stepped up behind Blanchard, Paolo tilted his head to look at them. “So it is true,” he said, setting down the glass and throwing the wash rag on the counter. “Guests from Dunwall.”

Next to Daud, Corvo shifted, but didn’t speak; and Daud was content to take his cues from him.

Paolo set to moving, then, stepping out from behind the bar; and in an uncomfortable déjà vu, asked, “Where’s the Empress?”

“You want to meet her?“ Corvo returned, the mask lending aid in making his muffled voice sound more indifferent than he likely felt at the idea.

“There’s only so much she can do,” Paolo shrugged in a deliberate gesture. “Only so much she knows about Karnaca and its people.”

“And you know more than most, I imagine,” Daud cut in then.

Paolo cut him a sharp glance. “You know I do. And I know who you are.” As if too curious to stay away, Paolo took a step closer. Mindy, for her part, cut past him towards the bar, leaving them at her boss’s mercy without so much as a second look. “The Knife of Dunwall,” Paolo said, looking Daud up and down, downright… leering. “Come back to exact your revenge?“

“There’s no vengeance in this,” Daud replied, and Paolo laughed.

“Of course not. Only a witch empress on the throne and metal soldiers parading through the streets.” His tone had turned menacing in the blink of an eye; and Daud understood now when they said that Paolo was headstrong, but unpredictable. Unpredictable, that was, to anyone who didn’t know how to read faces — and Paolo’s was far more expressive than he probably should like.

Daud smirked. “Depends on who you’re more scared of — the witch empress, or the Abbey breathing down your neck.”

Paolo snarled, just for a second. Then, he grinned. “Fair enough.” He turned to Corvo. “You can take off that mask, you know,” he offered. “We’re all friends here.”

“If we’re all such good friends, why don’t you tell me about your little disappearing act any time someone knifes you in the gut,” Corvo challenged, and Daud pursed his lips. “I knew someone who could do that once, a right old hag.”

Paolo hummed. “You heard about that, did you?”

Corvo said nothing.

Daud, in the meantime, felt the beating of the Heart increase inside his coat every time Paolo moved; he’d felt it the moment they’d stepped foot over the threshold. There was more to Paolo than met the eye — and he bet that if he asked Jessamine a few questions right about now, she’d have some very interesting answers.

Paolo looked between them one more time.

“Who knows. Maybe one day I’ll show you.“ He paused, then turned and walked back towards the bar. “Now tell me. Why are you here? And why, I suppose, am I still alive? Is it because the Empress’ bodyguard is no _friend_ of the Abbey, perhaps?”

“I notice you haven’t killed Byrne,” Daud returned in Corvo’s stead, keeping Paolo’s attention divided and dancing between them. “It’s been years months of this stalemate, and you and your Howlers are still holed up in here.”

Paolo shook his head. “All due respect, Old Knife, it won’t do to move too quickly. The Duke doesn’t give a fuck about the Vice Overseer, but he needs the silver mines to keep operating past full capacity to keep himself and his little quarrel with Morley and Tyvia funded.”

“And what’s your solution?” Corvo cut him off.

“Once we control the district,” Paolo said while generously pouring Mindy a glass of whiskey and sliding it over to her, “we remind the Duke that mines running at _half_ capacity are better than mines shut down by striking workers. We need to secure their loyalty before we can afford to make a move on Byrne. And in these times, loyalty is only born of one thing: desperation. They’re not there yet.”

Daud scoffed. “You can’t protect them against Luca’s enforcers. If they strike, they die.“

“That’s a risk Luca’s going to have to be willing to take, isn’t he,” Paolo answered without missing a beat.

“He’ll cart in new workers; children if he has to,” Corvo cut in. “You like to think you have this all thought out, but you don’t.”

Paolo braced his elbows on the bar, clasping his hands, and looked at them with beady eyes. “Then tell me: what will it take?”

“Easy,” Corvo said with a shrug. “A truce.“

* * *

 

That night, Meagan found herself up on deck of her ship, staring out across the water and towards the shoreline, a bottle of whiskey by her shattered elbow. Half-empty.

“You need help with finishing that?”, a rough voice asked from her left.

“No,” she answered, ill-tempered as she liked. She was too old now to be scolded for it; not that Daud had ever truly given a fuck about his Whalers’ manners, as long as their shit attitudes didn’t tip over into insubordination. She picked up the bottle and took a swig — then handed it over without turning to look at him.

He grunted in acknowledgement, and swiftly the whiskey was taken from her. _See_ , she thought. _No manners_. He’d come back from the Dust District tracking sand all over her ship.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She broke the silence.

“So Corvo finally made an honest man out of you, huh?”

Nothing. When Meagan grew impatient and turned to look at him, she found Daud leisurely lighting a cigar. It smelt like Cullero spices and tobacco; he must have nicked it out on the streets that day. Perceiving her glare, he flicked away the match and reached into his coat pocket to offer her one as well. She accepted, and the matches, too. The next few minutes, they smoked in silence.

“He did,” Daud then said at length. “Honest as a man like me can get, anyway.”

“You’re carrying the _royal signet ring_ ,“ Meagan reminded him — she’d seen the silver chain around his neck one morning when he’d invaded her galley for some coffee, barely dressed in trousers without a belt and what must have been in fact Corvo’s shirt, for the way it hung from his frame. She saw him wince at her words, and belatedly wondered just how much venom she’d been spewing just then.

“If we’re really having this conversation, I’m not drunk enough yet,” Daud said quietly, reaching for the bottle again.

Meagan shifted. “I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, old man.” She bit her lip, but the words were out now. She knew she had no right to call him that, either. Not without intent to hurt, anyway.

“Neither do I, L—Foster. So where does that leave us?”

At the open question, Meagan looked him in the eye. 

“Forgiveness is a bitch,” she decided. He nodded. She took her bottle of whiskey back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) SIKE! Vasco's alive!  
> b) OLD MEN BEING ADORABLE KLAXONNNNN  
> c) Does Paolo have a teeeeensy tiny crush on Daud? Yes, yes, he does.  
> d) I love it when Daud and Meagan talk about things by saying absolutely nothing at all.


	10. Chapter Seven — We Are So Small Between the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As many things as Corvo and Daud had undoubtedly kept from her over the years, this was the first time Emily truly felt betrayed by the two people she trusted most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the end of Act I! We're a third into this!! I finished Chapter 16 today and then had a good cry because Daud's an asshole, so that was my Sunday :'D  
> But since I did that, I'll very likely not take a posting break next week, so there'll be more dodgy Karnaca shenanigans in your inboxes all October :')
> 
> Soundtrack: [Way Down We Go, by Unions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBM2cTMSYPU&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=73).

Leaving, for a moment, to let Hypatia rest while Meagan sat with Vasco, Emily found herself up on deck, as she had so often the past days and nights. The early afternoon heat was sweltering, the only saving grace a current of wind carried into the bay from the Ocean. Emily removed her scarf, bundled it up and stuck it into one of the pockets on her coat. As she looked down to do so, her eyes still — again — caught on the bonecharms attached to her arms with straps of leather leant to her by Meagan. Corvo and Daud wore theirs wherever on their belts they would fit, but Emily preferred it this way. When the air stood still and her heart settled, she could almost hear them sing.

Corvo and Daud had left in the skiff, bound for the Dust District. She’d not been contrary when she’d told them they’d serve her better out in the city: while still unravelling the makings of this coup and Delilah’s return, they could not merely sit and wait for the next clue to fall into their laps. They need to make friends and, if necessary, new enemies to reclaim the throne. Corvo and Daud had taught her the power of intimidation — how else would they have gotten Parliament to bow down to their mostly fabricated story of Empress Jessamine’s failed escape after Emily’s return to the Tower? They had unearthed Dunwall’s nobles’ most shameful secrets, through blackmail and extortion.

And, apparently, through magic.

The previous night, Emily had been unable to sleep and, while wandering the hallway up towards the deck, she’d heard it. Heard _her_. Her mother’s voice, muffled by the ship’s thin inner walls, but to Emily the sound rang clear as a bell. She’d stopped to listen, heard Corvo’s murmur, then the Heart’s response. Silence, until Daud chuckled, dark but sounding genuinely amused. Before she’d known what she was doing, she’d taken three steps towards the door to their cabin; then stopped herself. Should she — _could_ she? It was the middle of the night, Corvo and Daud were probably abed. Talking to the Heart.

Just for a moment, Emily tried to imagine it. Her mother alive, and the three of them… happy. Would it have been possible?

As a child, she’d known so little of her parents. She had memories, of course, of her mother on the throne and Corvo, always at her side; tall and strong and a man of few words. She’d loved him, but she had not come to _know_ her father until her mother’s death. Perhaps she’d taken to Daud so quickly precisely because he was so much like Corvo in his reserve, and even more jealous of his secrets. And even now, there were still secrets to be told.

As many things as they had undoubtedly kept from her over the years, this was the first time Emily truly felt betrayed by the two people she trusted most.

Now, Emily was waiting for their return, from walking right into a divided district, Howlers on one side, the Abbey on the other. They would do this for her, and more. They’d saved her, so many times; and together they had weathered _everything_. Countless assassination attempts, one economic crisis after another. And then, Wyrmwood and the pretend abduction of Corvo’s sister, who nobody had been able to find since no matter where they looked, not even Daud. A part of Emily still feared Beatrici had been taken and inducted into the Oracular Order. Zhukov was gone, now, and so was the Twin-Bladed Knife, even though Emily would have rested easier had his remains been found when the old Greaves’ refinery was torn down, to bury the last of the evidence of his wretched ritual.

So much had been lost, and for what? For them to hurt each other worse than anyone else could. Emily had seen the devastation in Corvo’s face when she’d handed over the Heart, had seen Daud’s eyes shutter. Emily had never doubted their devotion to her mother’s memory, but in that moment her own grief had been stronger than anything else. It still was. She remembered her rage after her mother had been taken from her, she remembered having to fight to keep the memory of her alive in her own heart and mind. It felt impossible to allow any other emotion besides contempt for them who would keep her own mother’s ghost from her — but then who was she to be? Less like her mother — and more like her aunt; who never forgave and never forgot. Who was now returned to take what she believed to be rightfully hers, and to the Void with anyone who stood in her way.

Emily knew that this anger would not fade, nor the sorrow of losing her mother. But she had to believe that it would become possible to bear, in time, and it was up to her to make that choice. There would be a heretic Empress on the throne by the end of this. But whether she valued life or only her own revenge — that, too, lay in her hands.

* * *

 

That night, Corvo and Daud returned and told them everything about their encounter with Paolo and the Howlers in the Dust District, about their offer of a brokered truce; and Paolo’s willingness to listen, if only that. They had not expected to wring a concession out of him today.

It was after their meeting that Emily observed them, only for a moment. Then, she stepped up to Daud.

“I’d like to speak with Mother.”

Daud did not hide his surprise, nor his quick exchange of looks with Corvo. Then, he reached inside his coat for the prize she was after, if one could call it that.

“She’s been waiting,” he said softly, but no more. Corvo merely nodded, but Emily could see the hope in his eyes.

She accepted the Heart from Daud, doing her best not to shiver at the leathery, rubber sensation under her fingertips. “Thank you.” She turned, and left, and felt like a fool carrying the thing up on deck again. No-one else could see it, but she still made her way upstairs quickly as she could, and then reached high up into the mast. She sat, letting her feet dangle into nothing. For a long moment, she simply held the Heart in her hands, inspecting it properly. It was flesh and wire and glass. The ventricles moved when the Heart thumped slowly in her grasp, as though it breathed; as though the air could still give her mother voice.

She could bear the silence no longer.

“Mother?” she asked quietly. “Mother, can you hear me?“

_Emily_.

As though she were a puppet on a string, Emily felt her eyes begin to burn. But she would not cry. Not yet.

“Is it really you?“

_It is… some part of me, trapped in this vessel. I am not quite the Empress, nor your mother. But I remember you. And I remember how much she—how much I loved you._

Emily had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say; but they all fled her mind. “I miss you so much,” she said instead, feeling like that grieving child again and ever less like an Empress trying to live up to her mother’s image. “Mother, I… I don’t know what to do.”

_But you do, my love. You saved a doctor from herself, from the monster others made her become. And you will save this city from those who would tear it apart._

“I should have never let it come this far,” Emily said bitterly. “Karnaca is in this state now because I _failed_. Sometimes I wonder if I should have my throne back at all.”

_You are young_.

“So were you.”

_And you face challenges far bigger than I ever did; not least because things were kept concealed from me. I put my trust in the wrong people. You’ve already done better at that, you have learnt from my mistakes. And if you’ve made your own, then you will learn from them, too._

“Corvo and Daud kept you concealed from me,“ Emily returned, and hoped she did not sound like a sulking child.

_Because they wanted to protect you._

“I’m _tired_ of being protected!” Emily burst out, then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

_You are right to feel the way you do_ , the Heart answered gently. _But so do they feel that you were all they had left, and all they wanted was to spare you pain. My presence in their lives… it did not make it easier to part, when the time came._

“This never should have been done to you.”

_But it was. The Void is cold and endless, child, but it affords me sight, too. Into the lives of others, and my own. The time I spent at Corvo’s side, and Daud’s… it was not easy, it could not have been. But I am glad for it. I watched them grieve, and heal. I watched you grow, too._

“Did you never… demand they tell me?” Emily could not stop the question, even as she knew it was unfair.

For a moment, the Heart was silent, until: _Your fathers were not the only ones who wished to protect you._

Emily nodded, resigned.

“Did you love them?” she asked then. “As you were? Or as you are now?”

_Your father—Corvo was my greatest love, and Daud… he was my last hope. But that is in the past, and all I care for now is that they both love you very much. Forgive them, Emily. Forgive yourself._

Emily did not stop the tears from falling now.

“You were all I ever wanted,” she could barely speak for the pain seizing her. “I would have traded the throne to have you back.”

_Time is a fickle thing. There are moments that cannot be rewritten, no matter how much we wish it. The throne is yours, now. And you cannot leave it to her._

“Is she truly your sister?”

No answer.

“Mother?”

_I suppose she must be. I remember her as my friend, when we were little. We would play together. I loved her. And one day, she was gone, and I… must have forgotten her._ Another pause. _Perhaps you should not seek to be quite like me, after all._

“Don’t say that,” Emily whispered.

_Remember, Emily: when the tides are lowest, the truth will be revealed._

* * *

 

The next morning, Emily found Corvo and Daud in the galley, making coffee. She wondered if the Heart’s absence had pained them during the night. Before either of them could say anything, she stepped up to Corvo and pulled him into a hug. He hesitated in wrapping his arms around her, but soon she found herself in one of his familiar, tight embraces.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “ _We_ are sorry. We shouldn’t have kept it from you, whatever our reasons were.”

“If your reasons were that you loved me, then it will be easier to forgive,” she murmured into her father’s shoulder. Gently, she drew away, then turned to Daud, and waited. When he reached out his hand, she took it, and when he pulled her closer, she embraced him as well.

“Forgive us,” he asked, squeezing her hand. “We sought to protect you, not betray you; but it seems impossible to judge the difference when sometimes they are one and the same.”

“It was your duty, then,” she said, convincing herself as much as him. “We all have that.”

* * *

 

End of Act I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) SOB  
> b) more ugly crying  
> c) MOM PLS  
> d) also look at Corvo and Daud hanging out with the Heart all pillow talk-like... I mean there's barely any privacy on a damn boat, so where else are they gonna talk to her in peace :'D  
> e) also seeding in some sneaky Beatrici speculation there that may or may not be going anywhere................
> 
> Also:  
> BID drew [karate dad!Daud](http://bid-art.tumblr.com/post/178530709059/slow-down-everyone-little-thomas-is-here)!!  
> And Crow gave me art of the assassin trash dads napping, [and it is really cute](https://aimlessfool.tumblr.com/post/178577338998/gift-drawing-based-on-this-fic-prompt-written-by)!


	11. Chapter Eight — One Eye Filled with Blueprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud are late for breakfast, and Emily makes a house call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second act begins the way any good second act should: with visiting the resident self-obsessed asshole. (No, not the Outsider. Though we're meeting him this chapter, too.)
> 
> If y'all remember me being cheesy on the tumble about sticking Daud into a sealed chamber with three Clockwork Soldiers, then we're not _quite_ there yet, but close.
> 
> soundtrack: [Mechanical Angel, by Sunday Driver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJcmCnjceVk&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=74)

Meagan did not know what had happened for Emily, Corvo, and Daud to be able to look each other in the eye again, but she certainly didn’t mind. She and Daud had gotten mostly drunk in relative silence only a few nights ago, and although she believed it had done little for their better judgement, she’d woken the next morning with a hangover but a lighter heart. Now, she found herself in the main room with Emily and Hypatia, and she could barely decide which of them looked more exhausted.

“Rough night?” Meagan asked as conversationally as she knew how.

Emily merely cut her a brief glance, then went back to her warmed-up stew. Hypatia, who had already finished her breakfast, cleared her throat. _Here we go_ , Meagan thought, and braced herself — not for trouble. For gratitude. It had been unbearable, watching Hypatia hold it in for so long; Meagan thought the good doctor might burst.

“I’m not sure I fully understand what you did for me,” Hypatia then began, looking to both of them in turn. “But you saved me from myself, and you gave me a second chance. You saw more than the monster I was, and I have to thank you.”

“You were not a monster,” Emily objected. “Grim Alex was not you.”

“But she was,” Hypatia contradicted. “She was me, but with all inhibitions and morals stripped away. At the core, all humans are capable of catastrophic deeds. This has shown me that I am, too, and I must guard myself never to let it happen again. Not to me, not to anyone. We _must_ recall the current formula of Addermire Solution.”

Meagan decided to get involved, and held up her hand. “So far, no-one else has experienced the changes.”

“That we know of,” Emily reminded her.

“That we know of,” Meagan conceded. “But recalling the serum now would only cause a panic.”

“The point remains that I owe you thanks,“ Hypatia reminded them. “Both for me, and for Vasco.”

Emily reached across the table and took Hypatia’s hand, smiling at her. “I couldn’t just let one of my favourite teachers, not to mention one of the finest and most compassionate minds in the Isles be locked away.“

“Your Grace… Emily,” Hypatia amended when Emily squeezed her hand in mock reproach. “What I—what Alex has done… she used my body to do it, my mind. She used everything I know; she cut people into pieces while they were still breathing. One of us deserves to be locked up for what we did.”

“And the one responsible is _gone_ ,” Meagan interrupted before Emily could say something else _compassionate_. “You’re rid of her. Be glad of that, and don’t punish yourself for what was not your doing.”

Before Emily could agree — or reprimand her for her bluntness, whichever one — Corvo and Daud entered from the direction of their cabin. More than halfway grateful, Meagan turned to Corvo.

“Good morning, Royal Protector,” she said drily; and apparently with just enough derision that Lord Attano, as it were, raised a brow.

“Don't let it go to your head,” Daud murmured as he stepped up beside Corvo. “She means we're late.”

“More important, perhaps, than your timeliness,“ Emily interjected, “now that you’re awake, is what we’re going to do next.”

Taking this as her cue, Meagan stood and went over towards the boards covered in sketches, maps, and sheafs of notes and newspaper clippings.

“At this point, we almost have too many options, but our biggest threat right now is Jindosh. There have been no reports of Sokolov winding up dead in a ditch, so it’s safe to say he’s assisting the Grand Inventor in some manner or other. If Jindosh succeeds in mass producing his Clockwork Soldiers, there are plenty of citizens of Karnaca who won’t see the next sunrise. But his mansion sits even beyond Upper Aventa, built into the rock leading up to the Prieto Reserve. Getting in there and out again alive will be a full day’s work.”

“Kirin Jindosh has the empathy of a mantis,” Hypatia cut in. “He would not hesitate before making test subjects of all of you.”

“No matter what happens,” Meagan told Emily, “you cannot let that house get the better of you.“

* * *

 

“Remember: the Grand Guard will call down the entire city if they find out who you are,” Meagan warned them one last time as she steered the skiff into one of the canals below the Aventa District. The floodlights down here cast punishing shadows, and as Emily truly looked at the picture the three of them made, she wouldn’t begrudge anyone to shudder — the Knife of Dunwall; a hooded, hulking figure wearing the splintered mask of an assassin; and an Empress in disguise. Aided and abetted by a woman who’d had her eye gouged out and an arm torn off for trying to help a friend.

Still. No time to dwell on appearances.

“You said there’s a Wall of Light cutting off access to the carriage station?”

“Yes, but there’s a black market shop nearby. They sell on the sly. You remember how to work a rewiring tool, Attano?” Meagan asked without even turning to Corvo, but it did not speak of disrespect. If Meagan distrusted someone, she looked them in the eye. “You might need them inside the mansion, too. There’s a reason people are afraid of that place.”

Emily dreaded to think — they had no blueprints, no schematics; no idea of what might wait for them inside. Only the whispered words of construction workers who had survived the building of it, as accidents — what had been declared to be accidents, at least — had been common.

_Find the space between the walls._

Meagan brought the skiff to a stop and shut off the engine.

“I’ll be waiting for you here. Let’s hope our friends don’t burn down the boat while we’re gone.”

*

Lower Aventa District was no sprawling maze of streets and alleyways. Its centre was Aventa Station, from where carriages went towards Upper Aventa and then, Jindosh’s mansion. The Duke’s friends obviously enjoyed their privileges: those new tracks, practically defying gravity, had been built especially for Jindosh. As the new carriage station benefitted virtually no-one but Jindosh and his equally privileged guests — most of whom wanted to buy a Clockwork Soldier or three for their own big mansions — the district had barely had an incentive to grow. Those who did come through on their way to see the Grand Inventor had no interest in gracing any of the resident businesses with their presence, after all; they went to Upper Cyria for that. Or so Emily had been told, by Meagan. It had been startling to see how little she knew even about the capital of Serkonos — Corvo’s birthplace, no less, and the city where Daud had been raised from infancy. And even they struggled to recall or recognise things as they were now.

Emily had caught Corvo mumbling about palace life making him soft more than once in the past few weeks; and she was fearful it had done the same to her; or, rather, that she’d been _born_ soft. She’d certainly lived a sheltered life. She knew _of_ the people’s struggles, of the threat waning resources posed to families and entire communities, of the industrialist machine grinding workers down and spitting them back out. But she’d never _lived_ that life — even her time in hiding during the Rat Plague had been marked by people taking care of her. Of course, she’d been ten years old — but she’d been a princess, too. If she wanted to keep her throne, she had to prove she was worthy of it, first; and the people she had to prove this to didn’t live in mansions and palaces. They lived on the streets, in the gutter; they’d built these houses and ran the shops she now sometimes stole from to have money to spend at black market shops. She had to believe that some of this would go a long way to bringing back prosperity.

A few blocks away from Aventa Station, they found Sokolov’s apartment. It had been abandoned, but not yet looted, which came as a surprise. Emily and Daud set to rooting through the old man’s things while Corvo went on ahead to scout the streets closer to the carriage station.

Emily took in the tipped-over chair by the desk, and scattered books on the floor — telltale signs of struggle.

“He’s been taken, but there’s no blood. Whoever took him, they wanted him alive.” Which, even if it promised they might also find him still alive, Emily found not entirely comforting. Still, ever since learning of his disappearance, she’d feared that perhaps the Crown Killer might have taken him; but Hypatia had no recollection of seeing Sokolov since he’d first come to Karnaca.

On the desk, there was an audiograph recorder, and a card still inside. How convenient would it be, Emily thought, if that card contained Anton’s last journal before being taken? Emily looked up from Sokolov’s notes and Daud from sifting through the safe he’d unlocked when Corvo entered over the balcony.

“Did you find anything?” Emily asked.

“Nothing much, besides a bonecharm,” Corvo said, then paused, giving her a pointed sort of look. “And a painting. Of Mortimer Ramsey.”

Emily wondered whether she should be surprised. “That painting? The last one Sokolov did before leaving Dunwall?” It had been a favour to Ramsey’s dead family more than anything, specifically to Ramsey’s uncle. Ramsey himself would have probably testified that his own father had never amounted to much, in the grand scheme of things. The Ramsey family was not one that held infinite affection for each other, unless one made a lot of money — and held onto it.

“Let’s listen to this before we go,” Emily said, then pressed to play Sokolov’s last audiograph.

> _When I left Gristol years ago, I swore I'd never again take part in any further political matters. I've done my share of bad things, and some good, before and after the Rat Plague. But here in Karnaca, at the bottom of the empire, the cobblestones smell of death and corruption. It's hard not to consider what might have been different, had I plotted a different course through my early years._

The recording was then interrupted by someone banging on the door.

> _Open up, Sokolov!_
> 
> _— What is it you want?_
> 
> _We’ve been asked to pay you a visit._
> 
> _— By whom? I’m not opening the door unless you tell me._
> 
> _Sokolov, open this door, by order of the Duke._
> 
> _— If the Duke wants to speak to me, he can—hey! What are you doing!_
> 
> _You’re coming with us, old man._

The recording ended there.

“The Grand Guard came to fetch him, just as Meagan predicted,” Corvo concluded.

“Hold on,” Daud gestured towards the audiograph. “Play that again, please, Em.”

She did as he asked, and they listened to the recording again. There was the unmistakable sound of the guards breaking down the door near the end, but there was another crashing noise before that. Daud stepped towards the desk, pointing at the chair.

“They didn’t tip over the chair when they hauled Sokolov out of it,” he explained. “He did it himself, getting up in a hurry.”

“To defend himself?” Emily speculated.

“Possibly.” Daud turned towards the opposite side of the room. “Or to hide something. People like Sokolov, they don’t live anywhere without their little hiding places.”

Corvo huffed a laugh. “Sliding bookcases again?”

Daud turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Want to bet?”

Emily watched as Daud trailed a finger over the shelf boards, walking along — then stopped.

“And it’s always the dust that gives them away,“ he murmured. Then, he held up a hand to bid them to be quiet. Emily and Corvo listened — and heard a distinct _click_ as Daud removed one of the books from that row. Following the sound, Daud traced the edges of the painting that was mounted between the cabinets. “There’s a switch.” He pressed it, and the painting swung forward.

But it did not reveal a safe set into the wall. Instead, on a ledge, only slightly smaller than the painting that had concealed it, stood another work of art; and in it, a familiar face.

“Delilah,” Emily breathed.

“He knew,” Corvo growled. “That old bastard, he _knew_.”

“And now, we’re coming to save him,” Daud added bitterly. He turned to Emily, and she knew that look. It was a warning, but more than that it was worry. “Be wary of his allegiances. Our hope must be that, after we’ve removed Jindosh from play, he’ll see which way the wind is blowing. Until then, we may have little choice but to lock him in the brig.”

Emily nodded — and did not remind him that the Dreadful Wale did not _have_ a brig.

*

Closer towards the carriage station, they found another shrine. Feeling her mother’s heart increase its cadence inside her coat, Emily led Corvo and Daud up into the abandoned apartment the shrine still lived in. A corpse lay close to it, crumpled to the ground and a bolt in the man’s neck. There were no traps, however, no tripwires: someone had killed him, but whoever it was, they’d not taken the runes. Or, perhaps, had not been successful in taking them.

Even as she felt the Heart react to the closeness of the runes, Emily was surprised to hear its voice.

_He waits to speak to you_.

Both Daud and Corvo sent her a look. She supposed it was safe to say they’d run out of patience with the Void’s arbiter. With a sigh, she laid her hand on one of the runes, and still fought not to flinch at the violent way she was torn into the Void. She’d meant to ask Corvo if it’d always been like that.

When the bright light stopped blinding her, she realised the Outsider had not brought her into the Void alone.

“Really?” Daud bit out, and crossed his arms. Corvo just looked resigned.

Then, before her, the Outsider appeared, Void ash swirling in place like a school of fish. It was perhaps this why people seemed so eager to associate the Void god with the leviathans — for all that they _were_ floating overhead.

_I'll tell you a story about Kirin Jindosh, a prodigy from Karnaca. Self-taught, he was hailed by the Academy of Natural Philosophy as a genius who would surpass Sokolov and bring about an age of enlightenment. But just two years after his arrival, he was banned from the Academy for life, for reasons that are still not public. When they deported him, he left behind a machine that drank seawater, playing music that brought listeners to tears. They promptly took it apart, and it has never worked since._

Emily tilted her head. “I know all of that. I know about the _Heart_ , too,” she added sharply. There could be no doubt that she meant both of them — Jindosh’s mimicry, and the original. Her mother had since told her of poor Piero and his haunted dreams, his fevers. Piero had died the year before, and Emily was almost glad that he hadn’t seen her driven from Dunwall Tower. He would not have survived another service in the resistance.

The Outsider stepped closer to her then, leaning down and fixing her with those black eyes.

_Another story, then. Once he was commissioned to make a toy for a six year Tyvian noble girl. Jindosh worked for three months and built a machine composed of wood, brass, and the bones of several cats. It ran on a few drops of whale oil a day. The little girl was told she would have a special treat and she was perfectly delighted until the moment it was activated. She lives at an asylum up in Dabokva now, and will until the end of her days._

There was something twisted in the way the corners of his mouth curled, as though he was amused; but his expression of it a poor imitation of what it might look like on a human face. What _was_ he? A god, surely — but had he ever been anything else before?

“What are you hoping to achieve by telling me this?”

_Remember who your friends are, young Emily_ , he said, his face unchanging. _And remember that those who you would call enemy because of the company they keep may yet serve you in the future._

* * *

 

On the way to the Clockwork Mansion, however, there lay not only guards, black market shops, and beggars — but Howlers, too.

“Please,” the shopkeeper implored them. “Paolo is coming by, and he is not someone you want to meet.”

Emily could not help but smile at her. “Actually, I think he rather is.”

Corvo appeared at her side then. “We could make the introductions, but it’s perhaps best if we wait.”

Emily weighed the yays and nays of it; and found that she would face the leader of the Howlers now, rather than later when he’d had too much time to think about the suggestion made to him — a suggestion rendered, after all, in her name.

“I wish to meet him,” she told Corvo. For a moment, she only found herself faced with his mask, a thing of metal and wire of the same kind as her mother’s heart. A thing she’d known since she was a child; and that had curiously rarely frightened her. It stared at her now, giving nothing away, and she wondered whether he might refuse.

“Alright,” he said, and nothing else. They both turned, and Corvo had to exchange no more than a nod with Daud before the latter transversed up into a crawlspace above them, ducking behind a few shipping crates — an insurance policy, nothing more. The shopkeeper stuttered with fear.

“I beg of you, don’t—”

But she did not have time to finish her plea before the man himself entered the basement the shop was holed up in; followed by two of his Howler thugs. There was a pause in his step when he saw her and Corvo, side by side, but he did not falter.

“Who do we have here,” Paolo drawled as he came closer. “The Empress and her bodyguard.” Behind them, the shopkeeper drew a startled breath, and Emily shifted closer to Corvo to deny Paolo any sight of her. “And where’s the Old Knife? It seems I only ever meet two of you at a time.”

“Engaged, at present,” Emily returned curtly. “Have you considered my fathers’ proposal?”

“Considered it?” Paolo repeated her words, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer in towards her. Corvo tensed at her side and Emily inclined her head towards him just so, to bid him to remain calm. For all of Daud’s teasing reminders of Corvo’s friendship with Slackjaw, at least Corvo trusted old Azariah. He did not yet extend the same courtesy towards Paolo. “I’ve _considered it_ , and I aim to consider it some more while I wonder who such an arrangement would benefit more than an ousted Empress desperate for peace within an empire no longer hers.”

“Peace that will return prosperity rather than bring further ruin because neither side knows when to stop. Peace that will keep both sides in _check_ while still allowing each their part of the district,” Emily ignored his jibe.

“I don’t want a part of the district, lady,“ Paolo returned with malice, “I want Batista.“

“You want the city, Paolo, why deny it. So why don’t you take it?” Emily threw the lie back in his face. “Because you don’t have the numbers, or the influence.”

“And you consort with thieves and sorcerers, Your _Grace_ ,” Paolo drawled. “Don’t insult me by pretending you would align yourself with the Abbey without also stringing along the one and only true thorn in their side.”

“You are hardly the only one giving Byrne grief.”

“Aye, but he likes me best.”

At that, Emily smiled — which seemed to throw Paolo, if only for a moment. “You would do well not to underestimate me, Paolo. I am not afraid of the Order. You should be. Consider the truce. Consider how you best serve not only yourself, but the people you claim you wish to protect from the Duke.” As she spoke, Emily found herself staring into Paolo’s weathered face, his beady eyes, and knew that her heart was beating in her throat but she could not let him see.

Paolo watched her for a moment, precisely for signs of that jackrabbit in her chest. Then, he smirked. “You talk a good game, lady. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.” He turned to his two cronies. “Come on. The air in here’s gone stale. We’ll come back another time.”

And without another word, they left.

As Emily let out a long breath, Corvo shook his head.

“That was risky,“ he admonished.

“It was stupid,” Daud decided as he jumped down from his hiding place. When he reached them, he knocked his shoulder into hers. “Well done.“

“I cannot believe you survived Paolo,” the shopkeeper stammered, still staring at Emily with awe-widened eyes when she turned back to her.

“I’ve fought better,” Emily said easily. She heard Corvo scoff behind his mask and just as easily tread on his toes with her booted heel. “Now, do you have what we need?“

“Of course.”

* * *

 

Had anyone done Daud the courtesy of asking him _anything_ about his wishes and desires before embarking on this particular fool’s errand, he would have asked to spare him, just this once, the idiosyncrasies and whims of so-called genius inventors. Of course, the general populace would remind him — had they any notion of speaking to him about any of this — that they were not so-called, they _were_. But while these inventors, of whom he’d met many over the course of his now implausibly long life, were undoubtedly too smart for their own good, they were also impertinent, stand-offish, or just… strange. And considering how Piero had once gone on about ‘equipment’ he had built for The Golden Cat _to Callista_ (and within earshot of both Emily and Daud himself), he had been wary about forgiving even him his strangeness. Kirin Jindosh lived in a mansion as grand as any baron or minor aristocrat; and to see it from the outside was to marvel and, not least, to wonder. What secrets were hidden behind these high walls?

What greeted them was a lavish entry room, with decanters of wine and brandy sitting out as well as fresh fruit — even elixirs and vials of Addermire Solution. On the ornate writing desk before them also sat an audiograph.

> _“Welcome to my home, stranger. The door is always open to those with the will to pass the threshold. If you're here by appointment, then proceed, and bide your time. Otherwise, I'd be remiss if I didn't inform you about the defensive mechanisms employed here, which are quite formidable. Many have entered without invitation, for reasons as myriad as the fish in the Ocean. But of those who've dared to explore further, very few have found their way back out.”_

“He makes a sport of it,” Emily murmured.

“If to him it’s a sport, we have to assume he’s going to be watching our every move as soon as he knows we’re here,” Daud responded.

“And how will he know?“ Corvo asked. He’d removed his mask, ostensibly to eat a pear, and was now staring at it as if trying to determine whether it might be poisoned.

Daud looked towards the other door. “Let’s find out.“

What they found, however, wasn’t Jindosh or even a receptionist, human or otherwise. It was a room filled with display cases of various clockwork parts — among them the giant blades that fashioned the Clockwork Soldier’s arms — and a closed wall. A little to the right stood a lever, a glowing bulb on top indicating it was functional, Daud supposed. He had seen these levers all over the rich houses of Serkonos, in the past few years. And the only way to proceed, he realised, was by pulling it. This was the Clockwork Mansion’s terrible secret, then: it _moved_ , and crushed those who misjudged where to tread.

“This is how.” Daud nodded towards the lever. “We pull that, he knows we’re here.” While he still spoke, Corvo went over towards the apparatus and inspected it for any wiring and indications of its functionality.

“It’s the only way to advance past this,” Emily observed.

“That doesn’t mean we risk him getting his hands on all three of us,” Daud said quickly, then looked up. “Remember what people keep saying? About the space behind the walls?”

Realisation dawned on Emily’s face. “If the house transforms, there has to be a way of accessing rooms that aren’t currently in use, to have them cleaned and prepared out of sight.” At a moment’s notice, her eyes bled black, and Daud would never forget the jolt he’d felt when he’d first seen her use Dark Vision, the same as her father’s. The skin around her eyes went so pale it was nearly translucent, and it was as though the blood in her veins had gone black as well.

She inspected the floor, crouched down to do it, moving her hands as though following a maze beneath the flooring.

“I can see wiring, and a whale-oil tank further on. There’s something right below this.” She looked up, her eyes back to normal, and Daud felt more settled by it than he should like to admit. “You’re right.” Then, she craned her neck to inspect the ceiling. “Who wants to bet that there’s something beyond that glass. Or, rather, nothing.”

Daud pondered this, and then their chances.

“You and Corvo, go behind the walls. I’ll let Jindosh lead me on any wild goose chase he likes so he’ll never even notice the two of you coming for him until it’s too late. And then, maybe we can find Sokolov.”

Emily had begun shaking her head before he’d finished speaking, and Corvo appeared at his side in an instant. “Daud, no.”

“You don’t keep all of your weapons on the same belt, Corvo,” Daud told him, then looked to Emily. “The second we pull that lever, Jindosh will know someone’s here, and we don’t know what he’s got waiting for us. A dozen Clockwork soldiers, two dozen _guards_? He is well prepared for unwelcome guests walking in here.”

“That includes you,“ Emily reminded him.

“He’s expecting you, or Corvo. He’s not expecting the Knife of Dunwall.”

“That’s assuming Delilah didn’t tell him about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did. And with any luck, he’ll be insulted at being rewarded not with the Empress or her Protector, but the disgraced assassin.”

Corvo and Emily exchanged a look, and then Corvo took up his crossbow.

“On your head be it,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss Daud on the cheek. “We’ll see you soon.” Then, he put his mask back on, aimed up, and shot through one of the ceiling panels. The force of the bolt carried most of the shards with it, but Emily and Daud still stepped back and turned their faces away when the rest of it came raining down.

Corvo blinked up first, then leaned down. “Come on up,” he waved to Emily. “You were right.“

Emily set her hand on Daud’s arm, squeezing gently. “Be careful.” Then, she reached up to join her father.

Daud waited until they were well out of range of his Void Gaze before he pulled the lever. The walls began to shift, floor panels tilted and vanished — and before him, a Clockwork Soldier appeared. But it stood still, and so Daud made no move to draw his sword.

“Welcome, visitor, my home is always open,” Jindosh’s voice sounded over the speakers. “It’s one of my greatest curiosities, seeing how the common mind navigates these shifting rooms. I’m Kirin Jindosh, but you must know that. I invite you to continue, stranger. Just come up the stairs. Meet with me face to face in the Upper Hall.”

Pretentious prick.

*

Daud ascended the ornate stairs, a pair of them leading up into the upper hall — another lavish room, decorated with the components of Clockwork Soldiers and Sentinels, as those machines sold to businesses such as banks and treasuries were called to avoid the more militaristic connotations with the name. More wooden sculptures, too: of lions, regal and proud. Daud wondered of Jindosh thought of himself as such, or if he displayed these artworks in honour of the Duke. He had yet to spot any gazelles.

He very briefly summoned the Void again and cast a glance at the floor beneath him — at least one more Clockwork Soldier was sitting just below, and the whale oil tank Emily had mentioned. Perhaps, he thought, it connected to that Wall of Light just to the left…

“Ah, magnificent,” Jindosh’s voice pulled Daud from his thoughts. “Now that I see you, I’ve worked out who you are.”

As Daud stepped up to the door, he realised that the walkway Jindosh was using to get to him was also activated with the pull of a lever, and that the mechanism was practically laying the boards in front of Jindosh’s feet as he walked, forming the shape of a helix head-on.

Jindosh continued: “Not _simply_ a hired cutthroat, your clothes are too fine. An aristocratic thrill seeker? That’s closer, if not by blood. You’ve trained with weapons, formally, but you’re not a salon fencer, and neither were your masters. There’s altogether too much back alley in your movements.” Jindosh had almost reached him now. “That, and you still carry your Whaler blade. Welcome, Knife of Dunwall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Corvo and Daud continue to be adorable husbands. No change there.  
> b) Meagan continues to be allergic to the entire spectrum of human emotion, and honestly: I FEEL THAT.  
> c) Emily just wants to eat her stew, but there's always SOMETHING, isn't there.  
> d) God, Jindosh, SHUT UP. I mean, I love noodling around in that house while he tries to insult my parentage, but REALLY. Your trash talk needs work, Kirin.  
> e) Daud's gonna have some fun with that jerk. Or at least his stuff, lol.


	12. Chapter Nine — One Eye Filled with Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Daud deals with half a dozen or so Clockwork Soldiers, Emily and Corvo must decide what to do with Jindosh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Clockwork Mansion leads us into the belly of the beast, and it's all fun and games — until it isn't.
> 
> Tell you what else is fun and games until it very much isn't: realising that the end of the work year is going to be even busier than you thought it'd be. Fucken hell. I NEED A NAP. BUT. I shall continue to bring you the good stuff. As it is, I'm writing Chapter 18 of this today, which happens to be doing a lot of heavy lifting to set up what's coming next :''))
> 
> Soundtrack: [Game of Survival, by Ruelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-T5eYF9WiRI&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=75).

“You’ll come to regret your part in this, Jindosh,” Daud growled as Jindosh stopped.

Jindosh smirked, his ridiculous, _fashionable_ moustache twitching. “I expect you thought I would be disappointed to find _you_ in my house, but I assure you, it will be most interesting to cut you open and find out what makes the Empire’s once most feared assassin… tick.” For a moment, Jindosh’s eyes flickered colder than even the Outsider’s. “And when I have you, the Empress you made the mistake of calling daughter and her old Protector are going to flock to me in search of you, and they will suffer the same fate. I wonder — is Lady Emily’s inability to rule some consequence of neural degeneration? Or is it simply you held her on too long a leash?”

Daud would not insult his own intelligence by trying to open the door nor attempting to smash it open; he could _see_ the steel reinforcements. But, oh, would he have liked to put his fist through the glass and wrap his fingers around Jindosh’s neck and squeeze.

Jindosh didn’t wait for him to respond, merely stared at him with those blank eyes and lifted his left hand to take a drag of tobacco from the prosthetics he had fashioned into a _pipe_. Losing his fingers in an ‘industrial mishap,’ Daud had heard tell. He wondered now if Jindosh had not simply chopped them off to prove a point.

“I’m assuming my involvement with the Duke brought you to my door,” Jindosh said, doing his best to sound bored, but Daud saw the lines around his eyes tighten. “Or maybe you’re after washed-up Anton Sokolov, comfortably residing in the Assessment Chamber. Either way, come find me, and take whatever it is you seek. But if you fall, I’ll have your body carried to my lab for dissection and study. For the while, your secret is safe with me.”

“I’ll see you soon, Jindosh,” Daud promised darkly.

Jindosh smiled another empty smile. “Until then.” He activated the floor mechanism again, then turned his back and walked away. “Clockwork Soldiers, there’s an interloper in my home!“

Daud heard the gears of the house turning behind him, and when he turned, two of the metal beasts came rising out of the ground.

“Before you stands an invention that will endure beyond my time: the Jindosh Clockwork Soldier. But you must have seen them already. After all, you were in Dunwall that day.”

As they rose up, he did indeed recall the quickness of their blades, and how they made no distinction between their victims; no matter who they were. Even for someone like him, it could be over in a second. It had been, for Kieron. As Jindosh rambled on about his grand invention, Daud spared only a second’s thought to how he was stuck here, now, with the man free to make an impertinence of himself over the speakers whenever he damned well pleased; and then registered what Jindosh was _saying_. Extolling the virtues of these killing machines also meant something else: exposing their weaknesses.

“The machine is experiencing… uncertainty.”

Rearing back, Daud frowned. This had not come over the speakers. The Clockworks… oh, Void. They were speaking with Jindosh’s voice. Of course.

“Auditory detection in case the head unit sustains catastrophic damage,” the real Jindosh continued.

Daud felt the ground reverberate with the Clockworks’ steps — they were both coming towards him now. He’d read about them, too, on leaflets spread to guard posts and stations across Aventa; notes on what to do, and what absolutely _not_ to do. These notes included the warning that, if a Clockwork Soldier could not see, it could not distinguish between friend or enemy: they turned to attack others at random. Did that include other Clockworks, Daud wondered.

Only one way to find out.

When the Clockworks were almost on top of him, Daud transversed across the room towards the stairs; which were now blocked off. With a flick of his wrist, he slotted a hardened bolt into place, aimed — and fired. The gears attaching the Clockwork’s head to its body shattered and it clattered to the floor. Hearing the other Clockwork Soldier’s movement behind it, the now impaired version wheeled around.

“Entering combat state.”

The other answered with, “Combat protocol six,” and with seconds, their blades were clashing with enough force to send sparks flying. One of the bladed arms came off, then another. The Clockwork Daud had shot at went into a defensive stance and, as Daud realised just in time to get clear, created some sort of electromagnetic field, pulsing out and causing the still intact Clockwork to stagger. Before Daud could give in to relief, however, the first Soldier now proclaimed it was “overheating,” and continued to break down without being attacked. The one left was now free to pursue Daud.

“Detection confirmed,” it said promptly, and Daud cursed through gritted teeth. With the damn thing advancing on him, he did not have much of a wish to lead it on a merry chase around the room. Seeing as it had sustained some damage from the previous altercation, Daud decided to settle this the old-fashioned way.

Prying a spring razor from his belt and hooking it neatly to the floor, he jumped back before the Clockwork Soldier reached him. Whatever it wanted to say next was lost, as it was caught in the shrapnel and, with some of its plating exposed, enough small whale oil canisters stacking along its frame were damaged to take the entire thing apart.

“So that’s how you solve problems these days,” Jindosh drawled over the speakers. “By blowing them to bits.”

Taking a deep breath, Daud reached for the lever that transformed the Upper Hall back into its previous state. There was still a Clockwork below guarding the entrance to the rooms reserved for invited guests. He _could_ duck down beneath the flooring and remove the whale oil tank that he assumed powered the Wall of Light, but then it would be only too easy for Jindosh to pinpoint which path he would take. No, if he were to get past the Clockwork downstairs without being noticed… then he could make his way down towards the Assessment Chamber far more comfortably.

Chancing a glance from behind the banister of the gallery, he observed that the Clockwork Soldier had moved towards the front of the room. How convenient.

 

* * *

 

“Clockwork Soldiers, there’s an interloper in my home!“

When Jindosh’s voice sounded over the speaker system, Corvo and Emily both stopped in their tracks. They were too far into the house to be able to hear anything that went on in the Upper Hall, but Corvo still strained his ears for _anything_ while Emily’s worried eyes met his. He’d chosen not to question Daud’s decision back in the lobby, as he knew him well enough to pick his battles; and this hadn’t been something Daud would have let himself be argued down from. Stubborn as a mule and thick-headed as a bloodox, Corvo would think sometimes while looking at the man asleep in bed next to him. Jindosh continued to praise his invention, and taking that as a sign that Daud was in some sort of jam but holding his own, they continued. Still, when barely a minute later Jindosh announced his displeasure at his Clockworks being ‘blown to bits,’ Corvo breathed easier.

Emily had been right about the space between the walls being used for maintenance: plaques affixed to the walls at nearly every corner reminded Jindosh’s cleaning staff to be kind to his nerves, most of all, but also of workplace safety.

> ‘Do not mop the floors while the Arc Pylon is in use. Whether you stand conductivity or not.’

Corvo might find it amusing, if Jindosh weren’t singlehandedly responsible for the sheer carnage they had been forced to leave behind in Dunwall, and of which there may yet have been more. As it was, they climbed and crouched and crawled their way further up through the innards of this moving mansion. Corvo had no doubt that, had he known they were there, Jindosh would have taunted him and Emily the same as he did Daud as he advanced on his own path.

Emily touched his arm to get his attention and pointed at one of the signs on the wall: they were headed towards the waiting room. He nodded to show his understanding, and as they wordlessly continued on, Corvo was more grateful now than even the night before, for Emily’s forgiveness; if only promised and not yet given. To work together now, on their way to eliminating one of the architects of the Coup, felt more like a reward than it should. When they arrived above the waiting room, they found that Jindosh had indeed welcomed esteemed guests that day, seeking to buy a couple of his Clockwork Soldiers and further their reputation — and the green-eyed envy of their acquaintances and rivals. Among the rich across the Isles, nothing was done for its own sake; and if something could not serve to make someone they despised insanely jealous, it was rarely deemed to be worth doing at all.

“Have you been at the Spector Club recently?”, one such of Jindosh’s guests asked the gentleman who had found himself alongside her in the waiting room on the ground floor. “I’m told they’ve perfected their Plagued Spirit recipe to great effect.”

“Hmm,” the gentleman rumbled. “The Eyeless really aren’t my usual crowd. The Silver Spike isn’t all too fond of them.”

“You read that drivel? You know their editorial isn’t all too fond of our new Empress.”

“Well, I can’t read possibly the Gazette, not after what they printed about my uncle.”

“Tines was a bitter snake, I’ll give you that,” was the lady’s bored reply.

Leaving the lower levels of the house to Daud, Corvo and Emily crept towards the next set of ‘windows.’ Fortunately, not all Clockwork Soldiers had been activated: Jindosh seemed to be able to control them specifically, most likely with certain code phrases that only the machines in selected areas of the house reacted to. With the right activation phrases, Corvo speculated, one could wreak a whole lot of havoc. But it seemed unlikely that the Clockworks sold to rich buyers from across Karnaca would ship with identical sets of phrases; or even the same ones as Jindosh had programmed for his own.

Opening one of the windows and peaking inside, Corvo realised that they had struck ore — they were close to Jindosh’s private rooms. He shut the window again so as not to arouse the suspicion of the two guards that patrolled the hallway, and that of the dormant Clockwork Soldier stationed in a small alcove. According to the notes Daud had found and handed over in Upper Aventa, the Clockworks were formidable killing machines any time of day, but they were even more dangerous when damaged. If the head was removed or its circuitry tampered with — for instance, Corvo surmised, using a rewiring tool — they were liable to go haywire and attack anyone making a sound until they were destroyed or broke down on their own. This was valuable knowledge should it come to a fight, but relying on any of such tricks while in the presence of guards was a risk they could not take, if they wanted to avoid casualties.

Corvo was about to signal for Emily to try out one of her new abilities that had her — quite literally — become one with the shadows; when they heard one of the guards downstairs let out a surprised shout. Emily quickly went to spy through an opening left behind when part of the ventilation grating had been removed for maintenance, while Corvo waited behind her, trying to keep his breathing steady.

Emily soon turned back towards him, however, a smirk on her face.

“One of the guards was suddenly missing this week’s wages, and is now accusing his squad mate of nicking them off his belt,” she informed him quietly.

Corvo reined in a sigh. Daud was having _fun_.

“I suppose we should wonder at their being paid at all,” Emily continued.

“How else would Jindosh inspire loyalty? Certainly not with his winning personality,” Corvo returned.

“Perhaps not, but apart from putting up with his rambling, they’re sitting high and dry up here, protected by metal men and a house that crushes anyone like a gnat if they pull the wrong lever.”

“Speaking of gnats,” Corvo jerked his thumb at the window. “Two guards, one Clockwork.”

Emily nodded. Sliding the window by her shoulder up a tiny bit, she took in the room beyond. “You take the right, I take the left.”

“Done.” Corvo raised his hand to count. “On three.”

On his signal, they each opened a window fully at the same time. Corvo blinked up behind the guard on the right as she looked down the hallway, presumably leading into Jindosh’s quarters proper. While choking her out, he risked a glance over his shoulder and caught sight of Emily just as she transformed into a thing of shadows and mist and, Corvo would swear, _teeth_. Whatever she became — Void, darkness — her new form crawled along the floor undetected, then rose up behind the guard standing by the elevator, tore him to the ground, grasped his head in one clawed, shadowy hand, and then seemingly stole his breath with the other. The guard barely made a sound as he lost consciousness. Corvo knew he should be terrified — what did it say about him that he wasn’t? That, instead, he felt… pride.

Corvo deposited his target on the floor before Emily transformed back. When he looked up again, she was perched atop the elaborately carved wooden screen dividing the room, watching the Clockwork Soldier. It remained dormant. Corvo tossed her the vial of Addermire Solution from the writing desk tucked into the corner — she needed it more than he did.

“Onwards?” he asked quietly.

Emily threw back the contents of the vial without hesitation, and for just a moment Corvo wished Piero had continued selling his own restorative potions — then again, he knew for a fact that that stuff had contained river krust acid; so none of it seemed particularly healthy at close inspection.

Instead of dithering, Emily let the empty vial drop on the settee below, then nodded. “Time to find Jindosh.”

 

* * *

 

Daud did not believe for a moment that Sokolov really was in the Assessment Chamber — the old man was too crafty and, more importantly, too selfish to get himself locked up. Fifteen years ago, Daud had warned Corvo that it may be necessary to lock Sokolov into the dog kennels and threaten him with rats to get him to cooperate instead of giving in to cushy temptation and align himself with Burrows. But he’d arrived at the Hound Pits, albeit two days late, and asked where to start. Even if Sokolov may, by some miracle, have found his moral compass somewhere in a back pocket, he would not give Jindosh the chance to use him as one of his test subjects.

Transversing up behind a guard patrolling the far side of the chamber to choke her out and have his peace of soldiers — human ones, at least — Daud heard the speakers crackle to life once more. Jindosh had been blissfully _quiet_ while Daud explored the innards of the house. After a while, he had decided to knock out Jindosh’s two guests and to take the liberty of lowering the waiting room down — after cleaning out Jindosh’s office above that, of course.

“Ah, I see you’ve made it to the Assessment Chamber. Good luck. The guards are instructed not to interfere, but they do gather up to see if the latest visitor makes it out alive.”

Before getting out of sight, Daud perched up on the wooden banister to look down through the glass ceiling of the chamber. What he saw inside chilled the blood in his veins: not one Clockwork Soldier, not merely two, but _three_ , patrolling on intersecting paths. Having seen enough, he transversed quickly, until he stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the chamber’s entrance. He was no fool, nor martyr. He would prefer dying somewhere that wasn’t locked up with three bloodthirsty machines. But still, his heartbeat rose at the challenge of a confined space built to kill. Besides — this was what was needed of him to give Emily and Corvo the time and chance to eliminate Jindosh. So he’d do it.

“In the chamber, new prototypes are tested and prove their abilities. It is where I demonstrate to potential buyers the ruthless efficiency of my machine. Of course, test subjects will have to be introduced. Their incentive is to see themselves freed if they can survive first the shifting rooms and then the chamber.” Jindosh paused for effect. “Not that anyone ever does.“

Daud had no doubt that the guards upstairs were either very robust sleepers or nervous wrecks. He wouldn’t stop to ask them, as he heard them placing bets. This would be interesting.

He set a hand on the lever.

 

* * *

 

> _My efforts to fine-tune the electroshock machine have been less than successful. Breaking down the more bothersome elements of a subject's personality, such as willpower, while leaving cognition and creativity unharmed has proven unrealistic. Instead, my machine leaves the subject babbling like a child which is the opposite of what I need from any of the potential subjects. Sokolov is particularly resistant to the notion of assisting me in this; more than he is in collaborating in designing a new version of the Clockwork Soldier. He's a stubborn old goat, which could be his undoing if push comes to shove._
> 
> _At the moment, each Clockwork costs more money than a rich man sees in a lifetime, but I'm certain my old teacher and I can find a way. His vast knowledge and, even though it pains me to admit, his legendary creativity will aid me greatly in this endeavour. I could not be gladder that my suggestion to the Duke to have Anton taken is paying off so handsomely — even if we are making slow, slow progress to design a version that can be built with cheaper, more readily available materials, and assembled by Nora Armado’s half-witted factory workers. The Duke will get his Clockwork Army, I'll make sure of that. The question is when._

 

Emily put the journal back on Jindosh’s desk.

“If Anton doesn’t comply, Jindosh’s to make him his next test subject,” she said quietly when Corvo appeared at her shoulder after searching the rest of the bedroom. It was the room as they’d found it; while Jindosh was still in play, they could not afford to change the layout of any of the rooms. Another Clockwork Soldier stood just behind them. Emily had no doubt that there was a direct connection from Jindosh’s private quarters to his laboratory and office, but with the rooms as they were, it was lost to them.

Which left them free to find another way. Arguably, a more dangerous one.

Emily went out onto the balcony, and stopped for a moment to take in the vista that presented itself. All of Karnaca, it seemed, laid out before her, glowing in the afternoon light. Inside the mansion, time became irrelevant, as nearly all light was artificial or filtered inside through vents and mirrors, adjusted automatically depending on the time of day.

It was a genius that had built this place. A genius that she would have to destroy if she wanted this to end — this coup; turning her family, friends, and closest allies into fugitives.

“See that maintenance hatch? That’s our way in,” Corvo pointed, then leaned out over the banister. “It’s a long way down.”

 

* * *

 

When Daud activated the last platform on his way out of the Assessment Chamber, he saw the guards gathered just outside. He supposed they thought that, if three Clockworks hadn’t finished him off, a dozen of them would. He pushed himself fully upright, removing his hand from his side. Nearing sixty years old, Daud was under no illusions that slamming himself into half-raised walls in an aborted transversal would leave him with more bruises and cracked ribs than it would have done twenty years ago, much less forty. But as the alternative had been to have his arm — or head — sliced off by a blade nearly as long as he was tall, he would take the trade.

Once the walls lowered and he faced, indeed, a dozen Grand Guard soldiers, he demonstratively set a hand on the hilt of his blade.

“Impossible!” one of them exclaimed. Curiously enough, they all seemed too taken with his survival to make guesses as to his identity. Fifteen years went a long way towards fading from common memory, Daud had found.

“And yet, here we are,“ Daud drawled.

“Fascinating,” Jindosh now made himself known over the speakers. “You move extraordinarily fast, stranger; or so the weight sensors beneath my floors tell me. But now, of course, you know that Sokolov is not, and never was, down in that chamber. I would not have taken you for someone so easily led. Still, you should come upstairs and collect your prize. It would be remiss of me not to—what. No, you cannot be— _guards, to me!_ ”

The soldiers surrounding Daud startled — then, the first drew her blade on him.

“What did you do?“ she demanded.

Daud turned to her. And smiled.

 

* * *

 

Of course Jindosh would never leave himself wide open: with him in his laboratory were two Clockwork Soldiers — and Sokolov. Emily and Corvo had climbed up the elevator shaft down from maintenance and were now perched on top of a curving catwalk above the generators lining one side of Jindosh’s office. The entire annex was round and housed three levels: the office on the top floor, then the active laboratory and workshop in the middle, and another set of workshops below that Emily suspected could be brought up and switched out for one of the others on the main level with another lever command. Only one of the Clockworks was active, patrolling the length of the room across from them.

Next to her, Corvo held two rewiring tools in his hands; a suggestion made by Emily mainly to scare Jindosh into complying. She wasn’t sure whether the Clockworks were to listen to their vocal commands — telling a soldier of metal to ‘stay’ like a trained wolfhound pup seemed incongruous. Emily watched Jindosh for a moment, sitting behind his desk and watching readouts on some sort of switchboard. Sokolov was downstairs, tinkering with what looked like a Clockwork’s optics through her spyglass.

She turned to Corvo, and nodded.

The world around her went grey.

Corvo had confided on the way up that he rarely used his ability to Bend Time anymore because it drained him faster with age than it once had, and sometimes left him nauseated. During Delilah’s attack on the Tower, he hadn’t hesitated in order to save as many lives as he could, but that expense of power had contributed in no small way to how much having his connection with the Void very nearly severed by Delilah had affected him. Now, Emily watched him as though through a foggy mirror as he rewired first one, then the other Clockwork Soldier, watched as his Mark burned brighter and seemingly painfully when he stretched his reserves beyond the point of comfort in order to blink down, between them, and then back up to Emily. She could hear him breathing heavily behind the mask when he landed next to her.

“It’s done. Get down there,” he rasped.

Emily didn’t need to be told twice.

Reaching across the space and unspooling time laid out before her, she landed in front of the Grand Inventor’s desk in a crouch just as time resumed.

“Switching to alternative override.”

At his Clockworks’ reaction, Jindosh’s head snapped up from where he was speaking into the microphone next to his desk.

“—what. No, you cannot be— _guards, to me!_ ” Jindosh pushed his chair back and stood — and on either side of Emily, each Clockwork advanced a step towards them.

“The machine is experiencing… uncertainty.”

“Steady,” Corvo growled, who had blinked up behind Emily. Miraculously, the Clockworks obeyed. Jindosh went very still.

“You were not supposed to be here,” he said lowly. He looked a far cry from the smug, self-assured man she’d seen Emily had seen in official silvergraphs.

“And yet, I am.“

“Emily?” Sokolov’s voice sounded from below, sounding shocked.

“Get him, please,” Emily said to Corvo without taking her eyes off Jindosh. She felt the Void twitch and settle as he disappeared, then rematerialised a moment later.

“Oh for leviathan’s sake, Corvo, I’m too old for this,” Sokolov groaned. “Nevertheless, I am pleased to see you. And our fair Empress.”

“Not quite so fair, the way she’s looking at me now,” Jindosh drawled. Then, his eyes flickered towards the door.

“If you’re waiting for your guards, you don’t honestly believe Daud would let even just a single one through.”

“You have a very high opinion of your court assassin, Lady Emily,” Jindosh returned. “That, and you have your father’s eyes. Whoever that is.“

Emily didn’t have to turn to look to know that Corvo’s hand was twitching for his pistol. “Insulting my parentage is the least of your crimes, Jindosh,” she informed him. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done, and all that’s left is for me to decide _how_.”

At that, Jindosh smirked. “Is it now? And what would the ousted Empress prefer — a quick death on an assassin’s blade? Or perhaps you would like to turn one of my own inventions against me?” He gestured at either of the Clockwork Soldiers, still standing at attention a few yards away.

Emily tilted her head. “I might. What about that Electroshock Machine of yours? Is it ready yet?”

Jindosh’s smirk turned brittle. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?“ Emily had been asking herself that question since finding Jindosh’s diary. Would she? There was no choice but to eliminate Jindosh _now_ — they had no means of holding him until a trial, and if Delilah and the Duke knew that their pet inventor’s fate was uncertain, they would move the earth to try and find him. That would put every single one of Emily’s allies at risk. Jindosh had to be removed from play, and only depriving him of Sokolov would not do the trick.

This was what Corvo and Daud had done — which she had always known, but never fully understood. Until now. The choice between life or death; which was not a choice between good and evil, but between a quick end and never-ending cruelty. Her first mission, to Addermire Institute, had been a rescue. This… was an execution. She felt her palms begin to sweat.

“What do you think, Anton?“ she asked over her shoulder, carefully holding on to her indifference in the face of Jindosh’s scrutiny. “He was going to turn that machine on you, if you failed to help him in time.”

“Emily,” Sokolov stepped up to her side, shaking his head. “That machine is the work of an evil mind with too much time to spare and a thirst for entertainment. I’ve seen what it does with my own eyes. To use it would be to destroy his mind, forever. For him, it would be a fate worse than death.”

“Perhaps that’s what he deserves,” Corvo said darkly.

“In my time, I’ve become wary of words like ‘deserve,’ Corvo,” Sokolov answered. “But it’s not our choice to make. Perhaps for the better.”

Jindosh’s face in that moment was that of a man who would not yet accept he had lost. “Hard decisions are not our erstwhile Empress’s forte, I would say.”

Emily felt Corvo lean closer, and knew what it meant. Fifteen years ago, he’d put down Hiram Burrows for her. He’d do it again.

“If it must be this, I’ll do it myself,” she said. “Otherwise I cannot see it done.” She reached for her pistol.

“No,” Jindosh called, his eyes widening frantically, “stop what you’re doing! If you kill me now, you become the assassin we claimed you were!”

“Stand still, Jindosh,“ Emily commanded quietly, and raised her hand to aim. “You have committed treason against the Crown,” she continued, willing her arm and voice not to tremble even as she felt sick to her heart. Her mother had never done this. Her mother had never _had_ to do this. She swallowed. “Goodbye, Grand Inventor.”

 

* * *

 

Daud arrived at the laboratory, at a run, at the same time as the shot rang out. He staggered, searching for the source, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Emily, by the banister, Corvo and Sokolov on either side of her and flanked by two Clockwork Soldiers. She was the one holding the gun.

Without hesitation, he leapt up and transversed next to Corvo. Jindosh’s lifeless body had been pushed back into his chair — she’d shot him in the heart, not the head; sparing him at least that last of all ironies.

“Emily?” Daud asked.

“We need to leave.” Her voice was shaking. Her hand was not.

*

They’d left Jindosh where he lay, and Daud had advanced upon Sokolov the moment Emily had given the order to get out. Sokolov had raised his hands placatingly. Perhaps he considered his continued survival more important in light of what Emily was willing to do.

Void.

Meagan waited for them in the skiff below Aventa, and Daud felt strangely reminded of Samuel when she took one look at them all and then chose not to speak. Instead, she waited until they’d piled in, and then the skiff pulled away from the canal dock, back out towards the bay. The sun was starting to set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Yup, that's a choice that's been made now. Jindosh is... a character for whom 'empathy of a mantis' is very likely the actually correct descriptor. He's *such* a pompous ass. AND he dresses like an idiot ::ticks his faults off on fingers of both hands:: — a great character, but man I do not mourn that he's dead. My Emily would rather deal with having killed him, though, than leaving him brainless.  
> b) Daud, taking whatever isn't nailed down: Miss this, you pretentious fuck.  
> c) There's not much left of it, but this is Jindosh's ramblings about Sokolov: http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Conditioning_Sokolov  
> d) the best bit: how exactly does Daud survive the Assessment Chamber? I will never tell ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) he just staggers back out later with a dinged hip and a grudge :'D


	13. Chapter Ten — O Stranger at Your Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There has to be a reckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo, here we are again with a tiny interlude chapter that's all about the feels. In it, Danger Dad does his best to comfort both Rat Husband and Knife Daughter -- and turns out, he's surprisingly good at it! In his own, rumble-y way.
> 
> Soundtrack: Yellow Flicker Beat, by Lorde.

“I’m going to check on Hypatia and Vasco,” Emily said when they reached the Dreadful Wale; disappearing below deck before Daud had as much time to nod. He exchanged a glance with Corvo while studiously avoiding Meagan and Sokolov’s. They went below deck, too; leaving Daud and Corvo to each other. With a sigh, Corvo went to lean against the railing, and Daud joined him, but hissed when his ribs protested.

Corvo, of course, immediately rounded on him. “You’re hurt,” he demanded, and before Daud could swat his hands away, started unbuttoning his coat and vest. “Where?”

“Corvo,” Daud objected, but knew it was useless. He simply let Corvo half undress him where he stood, praying no-one would come back up on deck.

Corvo, having unfastened his top layers and rucked up his shirt, scowled. “You need a surgeon.”

“She’s been, she says I’ll live,” Daud said in a poor attempt at humour, only making Corvo scowl more. “I’ll go see Hypatia tomorrow,” he promised, hoping to appease Corvo, who sighed, but agreeably tugged down his shirt and let Daud tuck the hem back into his trousers. While he did so, Corvo went back to the railing, and looked out over the bay, his troubled demeanour at odds with the calm before the tide.

“Talk,” Daud rumbled quietly.

Corvo shot him a look, then turned away again. Finally, he said, “It was her choice… but it shouldn’t have been her.”

“It had to be,” Daud answered. “This isn’t our fight anymore.”

“We sent two trained assassins after her on her eighteenth birthday, and we called it a present. _We_ taught her that the ends justify the means.”

“We taught her to survive, to protect herself and others. If we hadn’t, she’d have died when the Regenters attacked her. If we hadn’t, she would have fallen to Zhukov’s cursed knife.“ Hesitating for a mere moment, Daud reached out to set his hand upon Corvo’s. “We taught her to hold on to that throne, for whatever that’s now worth. If anything, this proves she has the steel she needs to take back Dunwall.”

“I wonder if she remembers. Esma.” Corvo raised his eyes to Daud’s, and there was a haunted look in them. “I remember.” When Daud said nothing, Corvo shook his head. “Would you have done it? Had it just been up to you?”

“I was already drowning.” It was Daud’s turn to cast his gaze out into the bay. “One more life couldn’t make me sink any deeper, or so I thought.” Daud thought back to that night; and to the visit he had received from Corvo later, if ‘visit’ was the right word. He’d told Corvo everything that night. Almost everything.

“Look at us,” Corvo scoffed, pushing away from the railing. “Worrying about the past as if it made any difference.”

“Are you worried?“ Daud asked, because he had to. “About the path she’ll take?”

Corvo stilled, made to speak, then shook his head. Eventually, he said, “This will change her. But she’s still Jessamine’s daughter. She’s still _our_ daughter.” He reached out for Daud to take his hand again; and when he tugged Daud closer, he went. “The bruises she brought back from Addermire… back at the Hound Pits, we bruised each other. The greatest danger I ever faced was you, _sparring_. We say we fought to protect her, but did we really _fight_? We blackmailed and threatened and intimidated, we bullied them into submission. Emily… she’s facing them, head on.”

“We had time to prepare,” Daud murmured. “For Campbell, for Burrows, even for Delilah. The people she’s fighting are far more dangerous, more powerful. But she’s better than we ever were, too. There’s no-one else I’d trust to conquer this.”

Corvo released a shaking breath, his forehead resting against Daud’s. “I would so much wish to lie and say that I am not afraid,” Corvo whispered into the space between them.

Wistfully, Daud smiled. “I know.”

“But I am stronger for having you by my side. I love you, Daud.”

Daud stretched up, his other hand on Corvo’s cheek, and kissed him gently.

*

Below deck, the others weren’t to be seen, so Daud and Corvo simply went to their cabin to get ready for the night. They went to sleep wrapped up in each other and a flimsy sheet, anything more unbearable in the lingering heat that persisted into the night, even out there on the water.

Daud had no notion of how long he’d been out when he woke, presumably from some noise. He wanted to turn in Corvo’s embrace and find sleep again, dreams mercifully empty of the Void and its god, when he did hear footsteps going past their room and up the stairs. He realised that it must have been the door to the main room that had woken him. Emily.

He hesitated. Should he go to speak to her, him of all people? Daud watched Corvo’s sleeping face for a moment, worry darkening his brow even now. Perhaps he should wake him? Or perhaps, he thought, he ought to be a good husband and make certain to ease Corvo’s burdens. They were bonded, after all, if only in deed and promises whispered in the night, not lawful proclamation. Sometimes, he wondered how many nobles of Emily’s court might drop dead of shock if it were to be revealed that the Lord Protector had been married, in secret, to the Knife of Dunwall for so many years. It was altogether tempting.

Daud gently began to extract himself from Corvo’s arms; an undertaking he had perfected over years of having to get up before first light either to avoid the maids and stewards, or to prepare for an early departure while letting Corvo rest. Once he was free, he gathered his shirt from where it was drying draped over the back of the rickety chair by the desk, then silently left the cabin and made his way upstairs.

The lights still illuminating the coastline did not reach far enough out here to dispel the light of the stars and the moon; and Daud found himself staring up at the pitch-dark sky overhead. He remembered nights like this, when he and his mother had lived outside of the city. She’d taught him the movements of the stars then, lessons nearly but not quite forgotten.

But there was no time for stargazing now. He could hear Sokolov snore, sleeping on a spare cot underneath the bridge awning. Looking towards the bough, Daud found Emily sitting on a crate up ahead, one knee pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around it the way she’d often tuck herself into a booth at the Hound Pits pub; and staring out on the water. He approached, slowly, deliberately, letting her know he was there and giving her time to make up her mind to tell him to stay or leave her be. She made no move to acknowledge him until he stood only a few feet away, and even then she merely inclined her head in lieu of raising her gaze.

“Want some company?” he asked. Then waited. Eventually, Emily patted the space on the crate beside her, so he sat down, his eyes settling on the waves along with hers.

“I don’t know what to say,” Emily said after a few minutes. “To Mother, to Corvo. To you.”

“It had to be done,” Daud returned plainly.

“Is that what I’ll tell myself every time I look in the mirror?” There was a challenge in her voice, and bitterness too, but most of all there was sorrow. A sorrow Daud knew, so well. It’d been his constant companion these past fifteen years. He felt her eyes on him, and when he looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “I know the things that have been done in my name, and they’re no different for being someone else’s deeds. Things needed doing, and you and Corvo… you did whatever you had to do to protect me.”

“I did other things before that, too,” Daud reminded her. “And believe me when I tell you, you are _nothing_ like me. Not in the ways that matter.”

“Matter to whom?“ Emily turned her face away then, and quickly wiped her cheek. “I don’t want to do it again,” she whispered. “But can I promise that? To anyone?“

“I’d say it’s enough that you would care to.”

“Corvo taught me not to make promises I cannot keep.“

“And I taught you to fight dirty,” Daud insisted, determined now to stir her out of her despair. “This isn’t Court. When you take back the throne, you will be judged for how you went about it; but most of all they will weep for joy at seeing Delilah defeated and Luca driven out of his Grand Palace.”

“The censure will be my own,” Emily murmured.

Daud nodded. “It always is.”

“How do you live with it?”

“Day to day. There’s no forgetting it.”

“But you are happy.” A brief apology flickered over her face; her words skimming close to accusation.

“Corvo taught me how to be,” Daud said curtly. “But you’d do well not to mistake love for absolution.”

Emily lowered her eyes in what might be shame.

“I have accepted my past,” he told her. “As you will yours.”

It was the last they spoke, and at length, Daud stood to leave her to her thoughts. Before he went, he set a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and he nodded at her.

“Chin up,” he said, in a bad imitation of Callista’s commanding tone; but at least it startled a smile out of Emily. “And talk to your mother.” He let go, and set to finding his steps below deck.

 

* * *

 

Once Daud had left, Emily rested her forehead against her knee. All through her conversation with him, she had felt the Heart beat faster against her own as though called to by his presence — it had been silent ever since murmuring to her about a bonecharm hidden in the walls of Jindosh’s mansion; and Emily had been afraid to wake it and face its judgement.

What she’d told Daud was true, she did not think of murder of anything less than what it was when it was not her doing; but it had been entirely too easy to distance her heart from past transgressions. _Crimes_ , committed to protect her. All this time, she had thought so often of the sacrifices Corvo and Daud had made; blood on their hands against their best intentions. And perhaps the ones they’d killed had deserved their fate; when ‘deserved’ was merely a word to justify what was done in the name of a cause supposedly greater than one man’s life.

But what weighed more heavily on her conscience, what she hadn’t been able to admit, were the tendrils of rage she’d felt, standing across from Jindosh, believing that he _did_ deserve death for what he’d done. Just for a moment, she’d felt powerful. The wrong kind of power, one she feared to embrace. But what if she would have need of it to succeed?

_To judge is to determine the value of one thing against another. To weigh what you would do to achieve your end._

“Mother?” Fingers trembling, she removed the Heart from where she’d tucked it into her open vest. Its centre shone as bright as the stars.

_I feel your sorrow, my child, as though it were my own._

Emily felt the tears well up again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, words only for her mother to hear. “I’m sorry.”

_His machines would have killed thousands, had he completed them. And still you weep for his soul._

“There should have been another way.“

_Sometimes, there is. Too often, there is none._

“But what have I accomplished? And in doing it, what have I lost?“

_That is beyond me to determine. It is up to the living to count the cost._

Emily squeezed her eyes shut, tears now spilling down her cheeks. Count it she would, then. And then carry on, all the way through Karnaca. Back to her throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) A Knight's Tale reference spotted? Very good.  
> b) PARENTING IS HARD. Good thing Daud's raised 546743453 children already.  
> c) Emily is sadder about Jindosh biting it than I am.  
> d) Dads worrying their kid might go High Chaos: huehuehue feelins  
> e) Emily fearing she might go High Chaos: huehuehue MORE FEELINS


	14. Chapter Eleven — With One Hand on the Hexagram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, your city lies in dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so -- after Emily and Daud sufficiently destroyed us earlier this week, and work has been doing its best to sufficiently destroy me, I give onto you another foray into the Dust District. (I love that place, fight me.)
> 
> Includes: Corvo and Daud being disgustingly domestic (and also horny -- yes, this is your official naughty warning), Meagan internally screaming about everything, and Emily being a badass, still slightly shaken, not stirred.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Cities in Dust, by Siouxsie and the Banshees](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsOHvP1XnRg&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=77).

Meagan was no stranger to not being told everything there was to know. Daud had rarely shared all details of a plan, even with her. She did not expect that to change now — she’d broken his trust one too many times for that. He’d forgiven her tailing him when he was out on recon and she should be somewhere else, he’d forgiven her nosing into his business relentlessly when she was a teenager. But then she’d brought a witch to his door; and that even old sentimental Daud could not forgive.

Daud and Corvo were the first to join her in the main room that morning. Corvo went straight for the coffee, fetching only one mug, and after a long sip handed it over to Daud, who barely looked up from the day-old edition of the Karnaca Gazette that Meagan had brought back on board with her the day before. Meagan turned away and scowled as she poured herself another cup. Most of the Whalers would have institutionalised her for calling Daud, then or now, sentimental, but after so many years there was no denying that Corvo, and living with him and Emily, had made Daud _soft_. Meagan wanted to resent him for that more than anything.

It’d been a solid week since eliminating Jindosh and rescuing Sokolov (as much as the old goat had needed ‘rescuing’); and slowly everyone seemed to be finding their footing again. Emily had even smiled at one of Meagan’s jokes the night before — and Meagan was, truth be told, no good at them. She’d held back anything else she could have said, although she would not go calling it courtesy. She could have told Her Imperial Majesty about the first life she’d taken, and how no-one had given her time to act torn up about it. She shook her head. When they’d arrived, she’d told them that Billie Lurk was gone. If Meagan wanted her to stay that way, she couldn’t let the past determine her future. That included, apparently, being _kind_ to little empresses.

“So you’re heading out into the Dust District again today?” she asked Corvo. He nodded. “And you’re taking Emily?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Daud turned her question into one of his own.

“Because Byrne is ambitious above all else. If you’re going to place a bet today, perhaps don’t let it be the one where you wager that he won’t try to extract a price we cannot pay.”

“We have no other choice.”

Meagan whirled around, finding Emily in the doorway.

“Byrne won’t yield to the Royal Protector without evidence that I’m alive and in Karnaca. He wants back into the Grand Palace, at the shoulder of whoever is sitting on the ducal throne. Luca won’t give that to him, and neither will Delilah — if not for that, he might be happy for how the fear of a witch empress is driving the people towards his Overseers. I just might help him — if he’s willing to make certain… concessions.”

“Not prosecuting your father for heresy?” Meagan returned sarcastically, leaving it rather open which ‘father’ she meant.

The look Emily sent her in response was eloquent. “For instance. But as it is, _Daud_ will not be joining us.”

Meagan ground her teeth. Moving on, moving on.

“Sokolov mentioned that Jindosh was working on some machine with Breanna Ashworth,” she eventually settled on. The name had come up, of course, and the Royal Conservatory had been on their list of places worth investigating from the very beginning; but so far Meagan had avoided letting the conversation steer into the direction of her… familiarity with members of Delilah’s coven. Or, indeed, Delilah herself. “I talked to some people over the past week, people who still have business in Cyria Gardens. Entrance to the district is heavily restricted, and no-one’s allowed near the Conservatory anymore. But I’ve heard tell that Byrne installed a tiny outpost close to the centre, to keep an eye on who’s coming and going. Byrne returned to the Dust District a few days ago. Perhaps he knows something that can help you.”

“Byrne’s a zealot,” Daud objected. “He’s more likely to see things that aren’t there than anyone else.”

“He’s a zealot with influence.” Meagan fixed him with her eye. “And prove him wrong or prove him right, he’ll owe you either way.”

“We’ll ask Byrne what he knows, then,” Emily decided. “Provided he is willing to share with us.”

“I think if we offer to bring him Ashworth,“ Corvo said as he set down the now empty coffee mug, “he’ll be sorely tempted to agree to just about anything.”

Hopefully, Meagan thought, that included a truce between the two groups singularly poised — and equipped — to tear Batista apart.

“Is there anything _you_ can tell us about Ashworth?” Corvo asked her; and if he was trying to keep his tone neutral, he was doing a bad job of it. The Royal Protector wore his masks, figurative and literal, but he’d never been good at the stuff that hit close to home.

“Only this,” Meagan met his dark gaze without flinching: “Delilah’s magic might be grand and powerful, but it’s Breanna’s work that made hers sing. She’s a powerful practitioner, and the magic she wields is devastating. Delilah has her brush and she can bring statues to life, but Ashworth works with bone and clay and flesh. They both create things to trap others inside of them, but one is nothing like the other.”

 

* * *

 

As Daud and Corvo had before, Emily and Corvo made their way into the Dust District via the canal underneath Batista Overlook, a peak on the very foothills of Shindaerey, towering above the sprawling district. Under the Duke’s negligence and the remaining mine owners’ compliance with his demands, the district had now become buried under the very thing that had once brought it prosperity: silver. But it wasn’t riches Luca had brought them: it was dust, from the mines. The old Batista Mining District had once been the centre of Karnaca’s growth and splendour. Now, the Dust District was the withered heart of a city driven to the brink.

Emily knew what dust storms were like in _theory_ — but now the winds were whipping through her hair and even through her scarf she felt she tasted silver dust on her tongue. She envied Corvo the lenses in his mask as she shielded her eyes with her hand; and would have told him so, had yelling over the noise not been unwise for one thing, and useless for another. The current was too strong and the wailing wind too loud for her to be heard.

“They haven’t always been here, have they?“ Emily asked as they perched on the roof of the building opposite the Overseer Outpost. “This looks improvised.”

Corvo shook his head. “I’d damn well remember an Overseer Outpost right across from my mother’s window,” he rumbled from behind the mask, and Emily had to turn back to look at him twice before she fully registered what he’d said.

“You lived _here_? On Batista Overlook?” For a moment, Emily could scarcely believe she had not known. She’d known Batista was home for Corvo, of course, it was public knowledge — and perhaps that should have been the first clue, to anyone, that the Royal Protector was not a man to sit anyone down and tell them his life’s story; not even those closest to him. Emily hadn’t understood what the Blade Verbena was until she was twelve, and she’d not known of his sister Beatrici until the events of Wyrmwood Way. Now, these things were recorded in volumes commissioned by the Royal Librarian, but it was not Corvo himself who’d granted them an interview. Any and all details had involved digging and searching in the dust of Corvo’s old life.

Emily read of her fathers’ feats in history books, and not all of them were accurate. When she was younger, Rinaldo and some of the other Whalers had taken great amusement in telling her outrageous stories about Daud — and showing her the penny novels and supposed eye-witness accounts detailing those exploits, as if those proved anything. Daud had warned her _once_ not to listen, but she’d always wondered where, under all the sensationalism and myth-building, there lay the grain of truth.

Taking her astonishment in stride, as he’d always done, Corvo nodded. “Over there,” he pointed down the street leading away from the Outpost. “And this used to be the headquarters of the mining committee,” he added, indicating Outpost itself. “When Stilton disappeared, they were driven out. The Overseers thought it would grant them a strategic advantage against the Howlers.”

It seemed nigh impossible to tell, with abandoned guard stations that had become Howler and Overseer ‘checkpoints’ and barricades everywhere, with streets closed off and drowning in dust; but what was now the Overseers’ quarters lay only a few hundred metres away from Stilton’s home. Meagan had told Emily that Stilton truly cared about the miners and their families, and that it had been his presence and level-headed management that had helped the district prosper. Speculation on Stilton’s relationship with the old Duke lingered, even now, and Emily remembered with a pang her own sorrow when Theodanis had passed five years ago. He’d been a good man, so she’d learnt from Corvo and through her own correspondence with him. It had been a pity she’d never met him, as his health in the final years of his reign had prevented travelling to Dunwall; and as much as Emily had wished to travel the Empire to meet the other rulers of the Isles and her people, it had not been permitted — either by protocol, or by her father.

“And yet, they’re all still here, butting heads.” Emily wiped her forehead and found sweat and sand sticking to her skin in a way it hadn’t even in Lower Aventa, close to the mountains. “How do we get inside?”

Corvo moved to summon his powers, then abruptly halted and turned to her, sunlight glinting off his ever-present mask. Emily remembering saying good night and good bye to that mask, seeing him off at the Hound Pits pub before going out on missions with Daud. She wondered how many people’s dreams were still haunted by it; when to her all it was was her father’s second face.

“How about you lead?”

Emily did not respond for a moment before shaking her head. Trust the Royal Protector to turn even _this_ into a training exercise.

*

Two dozen Overseers, Emily thought, and still it was so easy to sneak past their ranks; by way of the very magic they so despised and blamed for everyone’s wickedness, real or imagined. Stealing inside through a conveniently shattered window that had not yet been repaired, they quickly ducked out of any Overseer’s line of sight. This was what Corvo and Daud had trained Emily for over years and years. Finding the right vantage point to observe patrol routes, habits, deviations because one guard couldn’t stand the other. Emily knew to take her time even as she itched to move. Patience, some would say, was not her strong suit — in this, she had no choice. So she observed, Corvo at her side, for several minutes before raising a hand and gesturing towards the stairs. Corvo nodded, and when the Overseer making his rounds in the makeshift sleeping quarters turned, she held up three fingers to mark her countdown. Together, they called upon their powers; and then, in a cloud of light and Void, they disappeared.

Upstairs, even fewer Overseers stood in their way, and it was almost too easy to slip inside one of the offices adjacent to Byrne’s.

“So this stalemate with the Howlers must be resolved,” Emily heard a man’s voice say. “I we get rid of Paolo, there will be no limit to our influence over Karnaca; over _all_ of Serkonos.”

“Sir… dozens of Overseers have died trying to bring Paolo to justice,” another voice interrupted. “We’ve struck him fatal injuries, but somehow he comes back the next day to fight again. Whatever witchcraft he has, even the Ancient Music is ineffective.”

“I believe Paolo is in possession of some unclean artefact, it’s my fear that he has to be killed twice in one day.”

“And the Duke won’t help?”

“The Duke is no friend of ours. He exiled me from the Grand Palace, and he’s done everything short of breaking with the Order entirely, to push the Abbey of the Everyman out of Serkonos. The look on his face when he dismissed me from Court… there’s something wrong with people who live in palaces for too long.”

Hidden behind a desk, Emily and Corvo exchanged a glance. Questioning, Emily raised a brow. Corvo shrugged minutely. Well. It was no use, sitting here and _thinking_.

In one motion, Emily stood upright, and removed the scarf covering her face.

“It rankles, doesn’t it,” she said, “to be cast out from where you believe you belong.”

“By the Void!” Byrne and the three Overseers in the room with him whirled around, two of them drawing their blades. When he recognised her, or at least registered who she presented herself to be, Byrne held up a hand, commanding the other men to lower their swords.

“Emily Kaldwin. As I live and breathe.”

“Not for much longer, if you keep butting heads with Paolo.” Corvo now appeared at her shoulder, startling the men _again_. Byrne wanted so badly to bare his teeth, Emily could see it in his face, but he kept himself in check. “Murder isn’t the way to resolve this.”

“I heard tales of that mask,” Byrne had caught himself now. “I took them for a lie, for a myth invented to scare anyone who would dare to oppose the Kaldwins’ rule.”

“I assure you, the mask is quite real,” Emily called his attention back to her, “as is the man who wears it.“

“If that is so, what might bring you to me, Your Highness?”

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Emily corrected him, stepping forward, closer towards his desk at the centre of the room. “We are not so familiar yet.”

“As _you_ have no throne,” he returned, holding her gaze.

“For the moment.” She knew not to flinch.

“With Paolo out of the way, I have _plans_ for Karnaca.”

“I’ve heard about you and your ambitions.” Emily studied him for a moment. He was tall, strong, and striking. “You’ve ascended quickly.”

“And you ascended _young_.” His tone left little to the imagination as to what he thought of an eleven-year-old on the throne of an Empire. But then, the expression in his eyes changed. Emily had no doubt her _usefulness_ was being weighed and, pray to the Void, not entirely found wanting. “Something we have in common, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“I know that the High Overseer holds you in very high regard,” he conceded then, surprising her a little. “Something that cannot be said of our new Empress.”

It was a challenge as well as any other — if she simply led with what Byrne wanted most, he would accuse her of extortion. Equally, if she proposed a truce with the Howlers directly, he would laugh her out of the room at best and sic his Overseers on her and Corvo at worst. Meagan had been right.

“What do you know about Breanna Ashworth?“

Byrne’s eyebrows shot up. “Breanna Ashworth? What interest would the Abbey have in her?”

Emily tilted her head. “Please, Vice Overseer. You know Ashworth works with Delilah, and you know what that must render her capable of doing. We know you have men posted on the outskirts of the Cyria District, watching the Royal Conservatory. Tell me what you know, and I can ensure that the witches in Karnaca are dealt with.” She waited as Byrne regarded her for a long moment.

“And what in exchange?” he asked. Emily suppressed a smile.

“There is more to Paolo than meets the eye,” she said quietly, deliberately pitching her voice lower as though the other Overseers in the room couldn’t hear every word she said. “And in all your time here, you have had your Overseers run their heads against a wall; leading them into skirmishes at the docks, in dark alleyways. You are at a standstill, with Overseer and Howler checkpoints a hundred yards apart by air, but all you do is watch each other. You could have mustered a hundred men and kicked the door down, but the Crone’s Hand Saloon remains untouched.” She paused. “You are afraid.”

Byrne scoffed, but she gave him no opportunity to protest.

“You are afraid of what Paolo may be able to do. If you believe he has to be killed twice before sundown, then why won’t you just _do it_?” She stepped yet closer to the desk, mirroring Byrne’s position as he braced himself on the tabletop with both hands. “Because you are not certain you can. Because you are not certain you _should_. You know ambition when you see it, Vice Overseer, and you recognise it in Paolo as well as when you look into the mirror in the morning. The only reason Paolo is not yet dead at the bottom of the Grand Canal is that you think he might be useful.”

Byrne pushed away from the desk then, straightening his shoulders. “The Abbey does not _cooperate_ with murderers and thieves.”

“You let Durante go,” Emily shot back, pleased when surprise registered on Byrne’s face. “You turned him loose in the hopes that he would report back to you.” Paolo had divulged this little detail to Corvo and Daud after they had been dragged into the Howlers’ headquarters by Mindy Blanchard. “Instead, Paolo sent him to Cullero, to see his aunt. But surely you knew that.” This was a dangerous game she was playing — a dangerous bluff. She may have more information than Byrne thought she did, but he was, and would be, in possession of more reach, leverage, and resources at his disposal than she could hope to while on the run. So Emily had to make Byrne an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“I’m not an idiot, _Empress_ ,” Byrne delivered in a biting tone. “What you’re suggesting is a truce.”

“And why ever not?” she countered. “Why fight with the Howlers over control of the district when you can just as easily use _them_ to control it?“

“And doubtlessly Paolo will think the same when you suggest this to him.”

Emily said nothing.

“You’ve already spoken to him,” Byrne realised, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, you said you weren’t an idiot,” Emily replied loftily — more loftily, perhaps, than she could afford; but she was past the point of caring. She needed this wrapped up. “It’s a _bargain_ , Vice Overseer. Interested?”

“And in return for my consideration of the matter, you will investigate Ashworth?” Byrne questioned.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll remove her from play.”

“You’ll kill her?”

“That’s not what I said,” Emily neither confirmed nor denied her plans.

Byrne paused, watching her. “You killed Jindosh. It wasn’t the Crown Killer, as the papers claimed.”

“How do you know I’m not the Crown Killer?”

“You don’t look bloodthirsty enough.”

“Would you like to know how Jindosh died?” Emily’s stomach turned at using what she’d done in the name of reclaiming her throne and freeing Karnaca from its Grand Inventor and his creations as a bargaining chip in the tussle for the soul of the Dust District, but there was little to be done about it now. “Tell me what you know about Breanna Ashworth.”

Byrne sighed. Then, he shrugged, and nodded. “Fine. After the Coup, she was promoted to Curator of the Royal Conservatory, as I’m sure you know. For a while now I’ve believed Ashworth has some connection to the occult in Karnaca, but it is only in recent weeks that I’ve understood that she’s not only involved, she’s the centre. And something is happening that I don’t understand.”

“What have you found?”

“The Overseers are the forward face of the Abbey, but equally important are our sisters from the Oracular Order.” Byrne paused. “To be direct: I suspect something is wrong within their sect. There have been… subtle changes to the types of proclamations they’d been making; ultimately small, but troubling deviations from tradition. But publicly saying anything along these lines will get me accused of heresy by my rivals in the Abbey.”

Emily exchanged a glance with Corvo. “What are you getting at?”

“I’ve been asking myself: is it possible that Ashworth has infiltrated the Oracular Order?”

“Do you have proof?”

“My correspondence with them has been… perturbing. Their responses, usually prompt, have arrived after marked delay, and their recent prophecies possess an unusual cadence. I have detailed this in a letter to the High Overseer, but I have not yet received an answer.”

“The High Overseer has been busy,” Corvo cut in.

“Busy, certainly. But I fear it’s more than that.“

“How so?”

“I fear the High Overseer might be planning an attack on Dunwall Tower. An all-out assault to try and drive the witches out.”

Emily felt dread rise within her. “Have you received word from the Abbey in Dunwall, anything at all?“

“Outside Cullero, there is a secret armoury,” Byrne explained. “The High Overseer’s office in Dunwall has requisitioned all functional Music Boxes.”

Emily didn’t wait to gauge Corvo’s reaction before searching Byrne’s desk for a stack of paper, then pushing it towards him across the polished wood. “You must stop him. Advise him,” she quickly corrected herself, “that attacking the Tower, attacking Delilah, with only men, hounds, and the Ancient Music will mean their end.“

“If they are witches, then the Music will—”

“The Music will do _nothing_ against soldiers made of metal. Surely he must know that; he was there, in the throne room, when they attacked. Jindosh’s Clockwork Soldiers are not creatures of magic, but of steel, engine oil, and death. They will rip everyone to shreds, and then the witches will do as they please with the rest. You must dissuade him. You know I can’t.“

“That’s the second demand you’ve made of me today, and I have yet to see proof that you are sincere in your promises regarding Ashworth.”

Emily held in a frustrated groan, but only just. “If I take care of Ashworth, will you _consider_ working with the Howlers?”

“And what of the High Overseer?”

“If you love your faith half as much as you claim, you will warn him regardless of what I do.” Another gamble — Byrne may have rivals in the Abbey, but so did he have proponents. The cards were stacked for him to become the next High Overseer… perhaps the youngest in the Order’s history, once again.

Byrne regarded her for another moment. Finally, he nodded. Then, he gestured towards the tall doors. “Walk with me.”

Together with Byrne, Emily and Corvo walked down the halls and staircase, passing startled Overseers and ignoring them as best they could while Byrne gestured for his brothers to remain calm. Once they’d arrived downstairs, one of the Overseers outside the door questioned their presence by addressing Byrne.

“Sir?”

“They are with me, Brother Stellos,” Byrne placated him, then led them outside. One of the Overseers’ wolfhounds, a stunning creature with white fur, came up to Emily and started nosing at her right hand. She nearly flinched away at first — she remembered playing with some of the Abbey’s trained hounds back in Dunwall, but for a moment she feared the hound may be able to smell the Void on her skin. The Order used the dogs to sniff out charms and runes, which was partly why she and Corvo had opted to leave theirs behind on the ship today. She almost felt naked without them: for all the misery that the Void had brought her, it also offered protection. Added strength. She supposed it said something about her that she would use them even while reviling both the Void and its god for their cruelty and indifference.

The wolfhound, however, happily sniffed at her and swiped its long, rough tongue square over the back of her hand and then looked up, panting lightly; looking almost as if it were grinning up at her. Confident enough that it wouldn’t turn on her, she reached out to pet its head and scratch behind its ears, to which it responded by closing its eyes and pressing its shoulder against her leg. Another hound came up on Corvo’s side, sniffing at his pockets as though searching for treats. But when he moved to pet it, the dog suddenly growled and moved away, slinking back out into the street.

Corvo sighed, much to Emily’s and, it seemed, Byrne’s amusement. “Never been any good with dogs.“

Emily wisely kept her thoughts to herself; and Byrne let some time pass before picking up the conversation again.

“I will write to Dunwall to warn the High Overseer,” he said at length. “If you can really get into the Royal Conservatory and root out Breanna Ashworth and her cabal… we can talk more about the Dust District.”

Emily nodded. “Good.”

She would have been content to leave right then, but it appeared Corvo had one more question: “These used to be the offices of the Mining Committee. What do you know about the disappearance of Aramis Stilton?”

 

* * *

 

Daud had spent the afternoon on the Wale, doing his best to avoid Sokolov’s prattling and Meagan’s drill-like gaze, while assisting Hypatia with Vasco’s physical therapy. It was the least he could do. She’d saved his life after his return from the Void and made sure that he heeded the terms of his recovery. Even though she’d never hear of it, he owed her. He should have gotten her out of Addermire earlier, should have thrown caution to the wind and gone in there to make sure she was alright. She hadn’t been alright for years now, and he’d never known — had never bothered to find out. There’d always been ‘more important’ things to do. He wouldn’t make those same mistakes again.

Such were the matters that kept Daud awake that night, sleep eluding him. He tucked his face into Corvo’s shoulder, his muscled back a solid weight against Daud’s chest. Corvo and Emily’s foray into Batista had been a moderate success, apparently, and in the morning they would discuss how to proceed. Daud was about to try and finally find rest when he felt Corvo’s hand covering his and drawing his arm tighter around Corvo’s waist.

“I can _hear_ you thinking, you know,“ he complained even as he interlaced his fingers with Daud’s. “Pain keeping you awake?”

“I’m sorry, love,” Daud pressed a brief kiss against Corvo’s neck. “It’s fine, I can hardly feel the bruise anymore. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmh,” Corvo rumbled softly. “Too late.”

“You were in the Dust District all day,” Daud countered. “You’re tired, you need your rest.“

“I may be exhausted, but I’m _tired_ of this boat,“ Corvo grumbled, and Daud nearly laughed.

“Never thought I’d get you to admit the latter,“ he teased quietly.

Corvo let out a grunt. “Only because you haven’t _applied yourself_.”

“Oh?” Daud perked up at the challenging note in Corvo’s voice. “Is that so?“ Corvo nodded. “And how would you suggest I… apply myself?“

As if on cue, Corvo twisted around, pushing back against Daud and turning just enough that Daud could see his eyes glittering in the dark. “You’re a clever man,” Corvo said lowly. “Figure it out.”

It was a bad idea, Daud knew that, given their surroundings and all the other people currently living on this boat. But then…

“It’s been too long,” he growled, and it _had_ , and before Corvo could say anything else, Daud had claimed his lips in a kiss much meant to shut him up. Still, Corvo moaned, so Daud swiftly bit his lower lip. “Quiet,” he whispered against Corvo’s mouth.

“Give me an incentive,” Corvo whispered back, tugging on Daud’s hand again — down towards where he wanted it.

Daud didn’t waste any time on pretending he couldn’t take a hint, and when he stroked his hand over the front of Corvo’s trousers, he found him swelling already. That stamina on a man his age… it excited Daud as much as it served to tire him out if he wasn’t careful.

Corvo dropped his head into the pillows again, releasing a sigh. “It’s been too long,” he agreed.

They barely separated, or moved at all; not least because the cot was narrow enough for two men of their stature, but mostly because they deserved to be lazy. Linen pants were shoved down thighs just far enough before they pressed close again and Daud wrapped his hand around Corvo.

“Not wasting any time,” Corvo huffed, arching his back into Daud, seeking friction — and providing it, his ass against Daud’s groin, who really couldn’t be blamed for biting back a curse that would have made a sailor blush. Mentally extolling the virtues of sleeping shirtless, Daud got his revenge by biting Corvo’s shoulder, earning a hiss and a sigh and a shove backwards that nearly rocked the cot an inch off the wall.

It wasn’t elaborate nor, one might argue, particularly romantic, but right there, in the dark on a ship in the middle of the bay, Daud was reminded why his connection with Corvo was what it was, and how they’d kept it alive for fifteen years. Fugitives and wanted on pain of death, Daud realised something for the first time in his life. With Corvo Attano by his side, even a man like him might just believe in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) HUE HUE HUE FEELINS  
> b) That's pretty much all I have to say for myself.  
> c) Also, fuck, that song still slaps.  
> d) DAUD BELIEVES IN LOVE JUST FUCK ME UP  
> e) Corvo, 54, still wakes up randy in the middle of the night. Daud is one lucky bastard.  
> f) Daud, 56, goes from contemplating his existential flu to randy in 0.6 seconds. _Corvo_ is a lucky bastard.  
>  g) Ok this note is gettin nsfw byyyeeeee


	15. Chapter Twelve — I Balance on a Wishing Well That All Men Call the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the pale shadow of a woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, Emily is breaking into the Royal Conservatory -- a witchy chapter, almost in time for Halloween. Em's got a few new tricks up her sleeve. And so do I: next chapter's coming on Monday ;)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Gold Dust Woman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8zp2VFnyg8&index=78&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

“There’ll be heavy Grand Guard presence outside the Conservatory. Inside, be prepared for anything. Ashworth runs with an… eclectic crowd. They’ll be the real danger. Delilah isn’t like Daud — she rarely keeps anyone on who isn’t valuable to her cause; and at the moment, those most valuable include those who can _fight_.”

“Are you telling me the Knife of Dunwall was a purveyor of charity even before his great change of heart?” Emily asked — a challenge more for the sake of it. She knew Daud had always taken care of those in his employ. It was one of the things that had convinced her that who he was — and who he was trying to be — mattered, in spite of _what_ he was. That had been what had made Corvo fall in love with him; and she’d seen it with her own eyes when she was still a child, at the Hound Pits pub. Not least the day he’d let _Billie Lurk_ live. Meagan shot her a look that said she knew exactly what Emily was trying to do. So instead, Emily went after the other, perhaps more obvious, target. “Someday I’d like to know more about how you met Ashworth.”

“I know you would,” Meagan returned. She steered the skiff through the canal below Cyria Gardens. “Remember to check out the Overseers’ hidden outpost,” she reminded Emily as they docked. “You sure you want to pay a visit to the Howlers as well tonight?”

“Cyria Gardens isn’t a big district, they’re all holed up more or less on top of each other. Howlers protecting the black market shop, Overseers hiding out a floor above, and Grand Guard watching everything from the roof; and they’re all very careful about not running into each other. I might as well talk to them — well. Not the soldiers, perhaps.”

“Be careful,” Meagan surprised her. “I wasn’t exaggerating, about Breanna. She’s dangerous.”

“I understand. I’ll see you soon.”

*

Half an hour later, Emily had accepted what amounted to a heist job from the black market dealer, witnessed the Howlers’ unsuccessful attempt at pulling off a Pirate Betty scheme, and counted the number of guards currently patrolling the boulevard before sneaking into the apartment Vice Overseer Byrne had named as the one he’d stashed one of his men in to observe the comings and goings to and from the Conservatory. Now, disarming the tripwire securing the secret Overseer outpost before stepping inside and closing the door, Emily was not sure what to expect — but a snoring Overseer was what she received. Emily stared for a moment, then looked around the apartment turned office turned surveillance post. She could simply find her way around, find what additional information this place might hold, and then leave without anyone being the wiser; but considering she and Byrne were both playing the long game, she decided to play it straight. For once.

Walking over, she woke the Overseer by shaking his shoulder.

“Ah!” He roused immediately, jerking upright — his hand was on his pistol before he’d quite shaken his head to clear the cobwebs; and Emily clamped her own over his fingers.

“Quiet,” she hissed. “Overseer Ogburn?”

Blinking behind his mask, the Overseer looked up at her silently for a moment before nodding. He cleared his throat. “I’m Brother Ogburn, Your, ah. If I promise not to draw on you, might I have my hand back?” Presently, Emily stepped away. “Thank you.” He went to speak again, then interrupted himself, just _looking_ at her. At length, he asked, gesturing at her clothes and bearing, “Is it really you?”

Emily sighed, and then raised her hand to draw her scarf away from her face. “Satisfied?”

“I wasn’t sure it was possible,” Ogburn said. “One Empress on the run, the other a witch… for a while, I didn’t want to believe it was true.”

“You’d be surprised how often people feel comfortable denying the obvious.” She had enough of people telling her what she was planning was impossible — at Court, and in Karnaca. There was something in the way he said it, however, that made her curious. “Why not you?”

“I have family in Dunwall,” he answered. “I haven’t seen them since I was taken away for the Trials.”

“You are forbidden any outside contact, particularly with your families,” Emily nodded. “I know.”

“The Abbey is our family now.” Ogburn stood, then. “But it doesn’t keep all of us from wondering.” He moved past her and went over towards a small writing desk near the balcony door.

“I could have someone check the registries, when I’m back in Dunwall,” Emily offered. “If that’s your price.”

“My price is that you kill the witch that is visiting terror upon the people I’m bound to protect,” Ogburn said as he held out a thin, linen-bound notebook to her. “And perhaps this will help. It’s the logbook that I’ve kept: all the witches’ movements, as far as I could discern them, including Ashworth’s own. Visitors, too, since the Coup. There’s one name in particular you might be interested in.“

“Who?” Emily reached out to take it.

“Kirin Jindosh.”

*

It was fitting, Emily thought that there would be a shrine tucked away in an abandoned apartment, protected by more tripwires and assorted incendiary bolts than even the Howlers would visit upon their enemies in an ambush. Picking her way through the debris of the caved-in ceiling, Emily disarmed one trap after the other, feeling the Heart beat ever faster against her chest the closer she came.

_How Karnaca has fallen since the old days. With your help, perhaps it will not descend into complete ruin._

Her mother’s voice had ceased to startle her; in fact she’d almost come to know when to expect it. It was as though the Heart grew warmer.

“I hope so,” she replied quietly. “Do you know anything about this place?”

_No. But the magic lingers here. Despair, as well. Whoever used to live here, they were guarding this shrine with their lives._

“You mean they’re gone?”

_When they set these traps, they knew they were unlikely to return_. Emily had reached the shrine. _He is close. Be careful_.

Emily sighed. She had two runes still burning a hole into her pockets after the last ritual. She could Reach across greater distances now, and she’d been secretly thrilled to discover that she could also pull objects towards her, same as Daud. He’d raised a brow when she’d demonstrated it, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘she didn’t get that from me.’

Emily removed the runes from her coat and laid them on the shrine beside the others. She could wait — or she could tempt fate.

She reached for one of the knives on her belt. Raising her hands above the shrine, she took a deep breath. Then, she drew the blade across the skin of her left palm through the folds of silk she’d used to conceal the Mark. The last cut had barely healed; and dimly Emily recalled seeing faded, silver scars on both Corvo and Daud’s palms. She supposed the Mark itself was not the only thing she would now never be without.

As blood dripped from her hand onto the runes, the world around her dimmed.

_Look at you, making your way across this shuddering city._ From the shadows, the Outsider emerged. The first time she’d seen him since Jindosh. _Was it worth it?_ He stood before her, his hands clasped behind his back. She knew what he meant, but she didn’t understand the expression on his face. Amusement? Indifference?

“I’m not here to talk about Jindosh,” she said instead.

_Breanna Ashworth would have been miserable as a member of high society, her only moments of real freedom getting drunk at fancy balls and slipping away to couple with strangers. It would have ended in an unhappy marriage to a bloated banker and a late-night plunge into an icy river. But then, she found Delilah instead. It was all highways and graveyards after that, never looking back._

“Am I supposed to feel sympathetic?“ Emily asked.

The Outsider tilted his head. _I don’t know. Do you?_

She didn’t answer.

_I hear you are conducting business with the Overseers and the Howlers._

“Am I to surmise you have an _opinion_ on that? You don’t usually seem to.”

The Outsider turned his head to look at her and made a low noise; and if she didn’t know better, Emily would have taken it for a ‘tsk.’ _Vice Overseer Byrne is an ambitious man, but he believes in the Abbey's mission, protecting the good people of the empire from the likes of us. You know he'd be happier deep down if this ended with Breanna Ashworth's head on a spike. Maybe yours as well._

“And what of Paolo?” Corvo had told her of his suspicions regarding the origin of Paolo’s infamous elusiveness.

_In case you're wondering, Paolo's not one of those unhinged cultists who believe I'll grant them favours if they leave a big enough offering or play just the right musical notes. He doesn't care a fig for me, but he found the hand of an old witch I knew once, and Paolo knows that it pays to have an edge. Sometimes pieces of us linger long after we're gone_ , he finished, and gave her a dark sort of look — the knowing kind.

Before she could ask what he knew that she didn’t, however, he vanished, and cast her out of the Void. The cut on her hand was bleeding sluggishly but would stop soon. Injuries sustained in the service of the Void never seemed to quite take hold as others did.

*

Emily found the apartment the shopkeeper said his cousin was holed up in; and inside, plans, supplies, even a few Howling bolts that might come in handy. According to a note left on the desk, there was a hidden entrance smugglers used to take to get inside the Conservatory unseen. Chances were that the thief had, too. Looking out from the balcony, Emily heard the whirring of the watch tower down the street, and soldiers talking from below. The Royal Conservatory had been built right along the foothills of the Leyenda Steppes, and hewn rock face connected the building Emily was in to the Conservatory itself.

She itched to try out her new-found ability: the runes had whispered to her, _sung to her_ , of spirits of the Void, of shadows and deception. She had no notion of what precisely this entailed, but when she clenched her fist, her vision swam and she felt as though she was looking at herself from a different perch, above or below seemed all the same; almost as though… there were two of her. Still, no time for experiments, and as she stole across the boulevard, pickpocketing guards when their backs were turned and sliding into the shadows when they ‘could have sworn they’d heard something,’ she learnt that Luca had handed down orders not to let _anyone_ pass through he gates; and to let ‘Delilah’s girls’ ambush who they liked. Emily spared a thought for the two witches she’d spied lurking behind corners and overturned dumpsters — waiting for her, no doubt, waiting to capture her and string her up.

Not wanting to risk choking out one of the guards lest the others realise he wasn’t at his post, she waited until the one patrolling the gravel path between the side entrances disappeared around a corner. The smugglers used a missing sewer grate above one of the decorative ponds, she realised. She checked over her shoulder and then reached for the Void to pull herself inside, finding herself in what she assumed was the boiler room.

Sneaking up the stairs, she came up on a door and, beyond, more stairs and another door. Peeking through the keyhole, she caught her first glimpse of what she had heard Daud and Corvo call ‘grave hounds.’ Void, they were ugly — desiccated and rotting, a greenish hue emanating from their bare skulls. They’d taught her that she had to destroy the body first, then the head, or else the beasts would rise from the grave again and again. No-one else seemed to be near, so Emily took her chance, readied her crossbow, and opened the door. Leaning around the corner, she found it coming closer, sniffing and scenting the air. Aiming swiftly, she put a bolt in its skull, then rolled out of her hiding spot and drew one of her daggers, stabbing the skull just as it hit the floor. With an otherworldly shriek, it shattered into a thousand pieces of bone and Void.

“What was that?“ The distorted voice of a witch reached her ears from further on.

“Better have a look,” a second witch answered.

Silently, Emily cursed. To her right were high shelves — if she could get up there before—

“What the—”

Too late. Before the witch could finish her exclamation, Emily leapt up and drove the edge of her hand into the witch’s windpipe, then forced her into a chokehold.

“Hey! Let her go! Oh, it’s you!” The second witch had recognised her, and now Emily was on the clock.

She knew of the witches’ powers, the most dangerous of which was shooting thorns from the vines covering their arms. The witch in Emily’s grasp continued to struggle, nearly jolting herself free. Emily adjusted her grip and when the second witch took aim, she only had a second to react. Unwilling to let go of her mark, she tucked and rolled them out of the way, taking the brunt of the impact when she landed on her back with a kicking and screaming woman on top of her. With a grunt, Emily tightened her hold and, finally, the witch passed out.

“You’ll pay for that!”

Emily dodged another salvo of hissing thorns, and she heard them strike wood and brick behind her. She didn’t have time to reach for her crossbow and change ammunition; instead, she went for one of her bolt pouches in the same breath as reaching up behind the second witch. Wrapping her fingers around the bolt while trying not to crush the vial containing the toxin, Emily grabbed her by the back of her neck with her free hand, and then drove the sleep dart deep into the vein before she could get away. She went limp, and Emily caught her around the waist as she collapsed. Inelegant, but efficient.

Turning, Emily looked around. This had to be the basement, used for storage and deliveries. And, apparently, dead bodies. At first she startled, seeing a man sitting at the head of a long table littered with cups and plates, but as she stepped closer, she realised he had to be at least two days dead. In front of him lay a note, detailing his approach for breaking in. Emily sighed. The shopkeeper’s cousin. At least she knew what had become of him, then. As it was, she hadn’t bet any coin on this becoming a rescue mission.

Investigating further, Emily managed to steal the key to the Archives from the Quartermaster’s office and learnt that Breanna had set up her workshop in the Curator’s office at the top of the building. In the Archives themselves, she found something else: a painting of Billie Lurk. She wiped the dust of the plaque set into the frame: _Her Heart, I Bathed in Poison_. Emily snarled. On impulse, she once more drew her dagger, to remove the painting from the frame — to sell it, to give it to Meagan, she did not know. But when she did so, she discovered there was a second canvas hidden behind the first. With a gasp, Emily reared back.

Daud.

It wasn’t signed as Billie’s was, but there was script at the bottom: _I Am the Ruin of His House_.

Emily swallowed. Then, she removed that canvas, too.

*

Knowing to avoid the next two levels of the building, Emily contemplated the elevator — more to the point, the elevator shaft. According to the floor plans, the Curator’s office was at the top of the building, on the far side from where she currently was. Pulling herself up, she took turns reaching and climbing upwards through the shaft, taking care to listen for the witches’ voices from inside the exhibition space. The entrance was barred and there were more grave hound skulls acting as sentinels; so Emily swiftly made her way further up. As she’d hoped, there was a crawlspace at the top of the shaft. She heaved herself up and found that one of the witches must have made herself a cozy little nest there: pillows, a plate of fruit, wine — and a black bonecharm. It whispered softly to her, and Emily picked it up without trying to make out the Void’s strangled words. She’d find out what it might do later.

From here on, a conveniently wide ledge led all the way around, including inside the Curator’s office. Quickly, Emily reached across the length of the room below and then snuck inside Ashworth’s quarters. From below, she could hear voices: Ashworth’s — and Delilah’s. Curious, she crept closer towards the stairs.

“I am hungry to whisper into the ears of the Oracular Sisters.” Delilah.

“My influence grows. Last night I walked through a dream with one of them, and we drank from a fountain in the town where she was born. I could visit her again tonight.”

“No, not yet. The last proclamation was only days ago, and Byrne is already suspicious. Until our hold over the Oracular Order is absolute, we need yet to be wary of his influence.”

“As you wish, my Empress.”

“What of Jindosh? Will his death hinder our efforts?”

“Thankfully, no. The last few weeks he was merely tinkering with some refinement or other. It was tiresome to watch. I still have the old lenses and cast-off parts piled in my workshop. But he finished some time ago.”

“Good. Once the Oraculum is ready, nothing will be able to stop us.”

Emily turned her attention to the other room, then — the workshop. From the sound of it, Ashworth and Jindosh had worked together in creating a machine that allowed them to interfere with the Oracular Sisters. Pushing aside her disgust at the dead body displayed on what looked to be taxidermists’ equipment, upright and arranged more like an effigy than an autopsy, Emily quickly searched the workshop.

There, on a bench, a stack of lenses and a note. Skimming the contents, Emily felt something like excitement unfurl inside her. These lenses had been discarded for a reason more crucial than mere lack of function: the last time Ashworth had used the machine with these inserted, they had nearly severed her connection to the Void. Here, then, Emily had her plan. She had no wish to kill Ashworth, even though she was well aware that it was in part her clemency ten years ago that had led them both to this. Had she let Ashworth rot in Coldridge, would _any_ of this have happened?

It was no use debating the whys and wherefores now: what she had was a plan, or at least an idea of one, made up on the spot and with no understanding of how the machine Jindosh had built actually worked, except for the simple fact that it could be sabotaged. Emily considered for a moment the Mark on the back of her hand and wondered if she should thank her lucky stars — or simply wait for fate to come back around on her. Good deeds rarely went unpunished, or so Daud had told her once.

As it was, she could count her blessings later. Now, she had a job to do.

Two unconscious witches stacked behind a bookcase later, Emily crouched behind one of the effigies the Oraculum was made of; terrible likenesses of the Sisters of the Order. There would be no experiments tonight, Delilah had forbidden it. How, then, was Emily going to lure Ashworth down here, and get her to use it? She bit her lip when she felt her Mark itch and burn below the skin. She uncurled her fist and lightly shook it out as she would a cramp, but the sensation persisted. Emily sighed quietly. Of course, she knew what to do — only a few weeks, and already her instincts were relying on the Void. But did she know _how_ to do it?

She needed a lure. And just perhaps… the Void had given her one.

*

Of course, she couldn’t get too close to Ashworth’s office lest the hounds sniffed her out, which left her with precious little opportunity and awful angles. Pressing herself flat against the wall next to one of the broken windows, she made sure Ashworth was sitting at the large desk before she reached for the Void, and hoped — prayed — that her instincts had not deceived her. She let go and then nearly had the air forced from her lungs as the Void ripped something away from her and sent it scurrying from the shadows she was hidden in. Materialising from Void and ashen smoke, it seemed… was her. A doppelgänger, clear as day, in its most basic, inert form. The doppelgänger looked to her as if seeking guidance, _orders_ , but her only order was ‘stay.’

Breathless seconds she waited, until finally:

“You!” Breanna jumped up from her chair, immediately drawing her sword. “You will pay for coming here, you foolish girl!”

_Run_.

At Emily’s command, the doppelgänger turned on her heel, shouldering her way through the doors and then _blinking_ out into the corridor. Ashworth followed, and it was the first time Emily truly saw a witch transverse, or blink, or whatever they called it. They dissolved, into oil or muck, leaving shadows of themselves behind only to re-instantiate themselves wherever they wished; seemingly unbound by distance or obstacle.

_Come to me_.

Stepping out from her hiding place, Emily watched as her doppelgänger obeyed, stopping beside her. Breanna whirled around, searching for her, for them, and when she realised what she was seeing, she briefly froze.

“No,” she scorned, coming closer. “He marked you.”

Emily felt herself begin to shake — the magic binding her Void shadow to her was dwindling.

“Curious, isn’t it. To be beaten at your own game — again.” With a hiss, Emily and her shadow vaulted the banister, flinging themselves down onto one of the shelves bookending the ritual space.

With a cry, Breanna attacked, sending thorns after them, and Emily stumbled as her doppelgänger was hit square in the back and, with a pained grunt, dissolved into nothing. The other witches on the exhibition floor were alerted now, crying out for Breanna, for help. Emily dropped into the space between the shelves when the first appeared right before her and she barely had time to parry and then duck the attack of a second.

“She’s trapped! Don’t let her escape!”

The witches’ voices heralded their triumph over a hapless victim, but Emily was far from distressed at her situation. Boxed in by shelves and obscured from view, she had them right where she wanted them. As one of the witches forced her into a blade lock, she bared her teeth and _pushed_ , then reached for her crossbow.

“Got enough _sleep darts_ for all of us?” the witch snarled.

“And if I don’t?” Emily taunted. Then, she fired — at the ground, twice. Immediately, her own vision began to swim and she was grateful for her scarf as the air turned sharp with sting and grit. All in front of her, the witches shrieked and coughed. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emily focused on the Void inside her body and her body in the Void, willing them to merge, for the boundaries to fall away until she was nothing more than a shadow slithering across the ground. Slipping past her would-be captors, she emerged from the gaggle of witches unscathed and, while they still wheezed for breath, she ended the spell and was expelled from the Void with a lurching of her gut and her spine tingling.

She flattened herself against the shelf, hearing Ashworth call from above: “Where is she? Find her!” A second later, Emily heard the tell-tale sound of her shifting through the room, landing close behind. Nearly drained and with no time to unstopper another of Hypatia’s emergency vials, Emily reached out. Holding her breath, she let the Void tear her in two once more, sending her double towards the other end of the ritual space.

_Stay_.

“Hey,” she called, throwing her voice as best she could by shielding her covered mouth with her hand.

“There!”

As the witches came around and Ashworth pushed past them towards her doppelgänger, her blade raised, Emily rolled out from her blindspot and lunged for the switch operating the Oraculum just as Breanna reached the centre of the sigil. With a jolt, the machine whirred to life and, caught in the middle, Ashworth did not stand a chance.

“No!” Her panicked cry was cut off by a groan of pain as the Oraculum took hold of her, and Emily closed her eyes against the blinding light.

*

When it was over, Emily looked around, flummoxed, as she found half a dozen witches, unconscious, and Breanna, kneeling on the ground and sobbing into her hands.

“Delilah… please… the Void, it’s gone.”

Tentatively, Emily approached her. “Ashworth?”

“What more do you want from me? I’m no threat to you anymore. I’m ruined.” When Emily lingered, Breanna scoffed bitterly. “Go on. Revel in what you’ve done to me.”

“I see no point in that,” Emily said quietly. She watched Ashworth for another moment, but there were no more words to be had from her.

Emily turned her back, and made her way upstairs. Outside the door to Breanna’s office, she found a painting of her mother — not _the_ painting, not the original, but she nevertheless stopped to run her fingers over the white paint with which it had been defaced; bold streaks over her mother’s face, and a bright X crossing her out, as if erasing her from history. “You should have told us you had a sister,“ she whispered, words she had not yet dared give voice. She wondered if the Heart was listening.

In Ashworth’s office, she stepped up to the statue of Delilah. It was beautiful, she’d give her that; a cruel beauty cast in cold, crumbling stone. She remembered Corvo telling her that Delilah had used such statues as sentinels at Brigmore Manor. At her approach, the statue came to life, gesturing dismissively.

“Do you really think you could hide your face from me, little black sparrow?” Even now, it was her voice — cajoling, condescending.

“It’s done,” Emily ignored the jibe. “Breanna Ashworth is no longer a witch.“

“What? You villain! You don’t even know what you’ve done!” The statue snarled and pointed at her, then brought its hands to where a heart might once have been. “A great bloom wilts and fades from the world… oh, Breanna. I don’t believe we will speak again. The thought of seeing you reduced to such a pale, sad thing… it’s too much to bear.”

Even as her disgust grew, Emily took a step back in surprise. “So you’re just going to discard her. Your oldest friend, your _lover_.” She scoffed. “You’re going to pay for all the people you butchered, and for everything you’ve stolen from me. You will give me back my throne.“

“Come and take it, girl. I welcome you to my tower, you and your bastard fathers.” With this, the statue shuddered and settled — Emily suspected, for the last time. Over her shoulder, she looked towards where Breanna was still kneeling inside the Oraculum. Perhaps it was weakness, but she felt… pity, more than anything.

*

> _When Delilah fell to the assassins Daud and Corvo, the Void was lost, and the coven scattered._

Emily rifled through the desk’s contents as she listened to Ashworth’s audiographs — and found a silvergraph that stopped her in her tracks.

Luca Abele, Delilah Copperspoon, Breanna Ashworth, Grim Alex, and Kirin Jindosh. Dated the 16th Day of the Month of Rain, 1849. It had to have been taken the night Delilah returned from the Void, through a ritual devised by Ashworth, surely, but where? Here, at the Conservatory? That seemed improbable.

At that moment, something in Ashworth’s audiograph caught her attention. She dropped the silvergraph and rewound halfway up the card, then set it to play again. 

> _… when we changed the Empire from the home of Aramis Stilton, three years ago._

Emily’s gaze flipped back to the picture. Aramis Stilton’s house? Of course, it had been empty… Stilton had been reported missing earlier in the year. She frowned. Perhaps Meagan might be able to shed some light. Daud, too. He’d gone to Karnaca _after_ Luca had bought the estate. Pocketing what she could, including a bundle of letters exchanged between Delilah, Breanna, and Jindosh, Emily prepared to leave. She’d not stay here a moment longer. Except, perhaps, to steal one thing.

 

* * *

 

On her way out of the district, Emily dropped off the Roseburrow Prototype at the black market shop, informing the dealer that his acquaintance hadn’t made it. He found this regrettable, of course, but agreed to draw up schematics for her weapons based on the blueprints she’d recovered along with the prototype. Satisfied, she left, nodding at one of the Howlers sitting on the stoop as she went. They might as well know that the danger had passed — for one night, at least.

Back at the skiff, she waited until Meagan had manoeuvred them some ways out of the canal before saying quietly, “Breanna Ashworth will no longer make magic for Delilah.”

Meagan’s gaze flickered to her. “That’s a different ruin than death, for her.”

“I know.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Emily got Doppelgänger!!  
> b) This marks the beginning of my absolutely messing with canon and its time travel plotline. We're about to head out to Aramis Stilton's house, after a short break on Monday, and things are gonna get... interesting.  
> c) Also I love writing Emily solo missions.


	16. Chapter Thirteen — So Large Against the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much can you take — before you snap? Knowing all the time that you were meant for something better. Feeling it, wanting it.
> 
> (accidentally misnamed the previous chapter; this is the real thirteen, sorry lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Sunday update, another Void interlude...
> 
> Soundtrack: [Before You Snap, by Yonderboi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8V55Od764w&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=79).

As soon as they arrived at the Dreadful Wale, everyone gathered in the main room, for Emily to explain what she’d discovered and what had become of Breanna Ashworth.

“I found this in Breanna’s archives,” Emily retrieved the silvergraph from her satchel. Her hand also hovered over the canvases she’d taken, Delilah’s paintings from fifteen years ago, of Meagan — Billie, then — and Daud. But now was not the time. “This was taken the night Delilah returned from the Void. And you,” she fixed Hypatia with a look as she laid the evidence down before her, “were there.”

Hypatia leaned forward, reaching out as if to touch it but not quite daring to. “Grim Alex was,” she said quietly. “I remember, now. Sometimes, I cannot tell what really happened and what she… fantasised about,” Hypatia looked up at Emily with pleading eyes. “I did not mean to deceive you.”

Emily bowed her head with a sigh, then nodded. “I know,“ she said reassuringly. “At least we now know when the ritual took place: 16th of Rain, 1849. But, more importantly, I know where.” Her gaze found Meagan’s across the room. “At the home of Aramis Stilton.”

“That’s two months _after_ he disappeared,” Daud remarked. He, too, looked to Meagan. “Did you know about this?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Corvo didn’t hear from you until months after Aramis was reported missing,” Daud interjected. “In fact, your letter arrived with my own report. _At the end of Rain._ ”

Meagan held up her hand, a clear sign to back off. “It’s none of your business.”

But Daud was merciless. “You know, we just assumed you were hurt investigating Stilton’s disappearance; and you _let us_ believe it. But that’s not what happened, is it?” When Meagan didn’t respond, he shook his head, disappointment etched into his expression. “You knew. You knew, and you didn’t warn us. It’s like that Void-damned painting all over again.“ Angrily, he gestured at Sokolov’s painting of Delilah that was propped up in the corner of the room. Anton hadn’t taken it with him when he’d finally returned to his apartment in Lower Aventa.

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Meagan finally burst out, glaring daggers at Daud, at all of them. “When I came back to Karnaca, I went looking for Aramis, but the trail had gone cold. Then I heard that Luca was going to buy the house. Next thing I know, there’s some big to-do planned, with crates being lugged inside. One of the delivery boys tipped me off. So I went to check it out.”

“Did you see Ashworth? Any of the others?”

“For the last time, no. I barely got in the door; the place was swarming with Grand Guard.”

“What happened?” Emily insisted.

Meagan sighed. “They caught me trying to steal the Master Key. I showed them what I was worth, but it cost me.” She shook her head, resigned. “I had no idea Ashworth was ever even there.”

“And after that ordeal, you told me you wanted nothing more to do with it,” Corvo concluded, his voice heavy with remorse. “I’m sorry, Meagan.”

Daud said nothing.

“Luca must have realised his good fortune when he understood that Stilton’s home would be the perfect place to conduct the ritual.” Emily paused, her hand hovering over another letter she had taken from Ashworth’s study. “There’s something else. I found orders, not yet sent; for either of you,” she looked at Corvo first, then Daud, “to be captured, and then taken to the Conservatory. She wanted to use you as test subjects for the Oraculum. Jindosh’s new lenses were working, but I think there’s a reason that Breanna held on to the old ones. There was also a second machine; not a lot of detail, but something she wanted to use to keep either of you in check.”

“And here I was thinking she just wanted my head,” Daud said drily. “Then again, I suppose that would have been next.”

For a moment, silence hung over the room, until Emily turned to Meagan once again.

“Do you know a way past that Jindosh lock?“

Meagan scoffed. “They put that madman’s riddle on that door _after_ they summoned a twice-cursed witch in there.” She kept shaking her head, but then paused. “But you know… based on what Byrne told you, there is someone else you could ask…” She raised a brow and gave Emily a meaningful look.

“Paolo,” Emily sighed.

“We’re already negotiating a truce,” Corvo objected. “What price do you think he might care to extract if we go asking him for this?”

Emily weighed her head. “We just assumed that the Grand Guard took Stilton, same as Sokolov. But Byrne suggested that it was the Howlers.”

“You mean…?” Daud’s expression turned calculating.

“He won’t _want_ to give me the door code out of the goodness of his heart, but if we reveal we know he tried to deal with Luca and got screwed, he might be persuaded to part with it.”

Daud smirked at her. “I knew we raised you right.”

 

* * *

 

 

Emily went to bed soon after, exhausted from the use of her new powers. She had trouble getting to sleep, tossing and turning on the cot in her cabin. She thought of Dunwall, of Alexi, of the Whalers and Cottings fighting to stay alive in a city slowly driven to the brink from the inside. It was curious: so far, Delilah seemed to have failed to rally the people to her side. She’d simply shut herself away in the palace, letting her witches roam the city and take whatever they wanted.

Pondering such mysteries, Emily finally fell asleep; but whatever peace was therein seemed to last only minutes before she woke again. Blinking her eyes open blearily, she instantly felt the cold seeping through her sheet and nightclothes — except she wasn’t in her nightclothes anymore. Pushing the sheet away, she found herself fully dressed, but missing all her gear. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end when something seemed to whisper along her shoulder. But there couldn’t be a draft. Not here.

What could the Outsider want now?

She opened the door and did indeed find herself in the Void — but it didn’t look like the Void at all. Instead of black rock, huge vines had torn through the hull of the Wale, winding up towards an outcrop of Void far beyond; the same vines that had shackled Corvo while Delilah stole his powers, the same plants that Emily had seen at the Royal Conservatory, guarding the chambers and the corridors. Something felt wrong, and Emily raised her hand before her eyes as she concentrated. She walked on, reaching and tugging and pulling, but the Void would not answer.

This was not the Void she knew.

“Surprised I can pull you into this place?” a voice suddenly drawled in her ear, and Emily whirled around, finding Delilah standing just behind her. “The Outsider marked me long ago.”

Applying her courage, Emily returned, “I’ve been alive longer than you have been a witch, Delilah.“

“And yet, see what I have done to achieve true power,” Delilah waved. “And what can your precious Daud do, hm? Or your father?”

“Why have you brought me here? This is the Void, you cannot kill me here. So what do you want? To scare me, to punish me for Breanna? I’m not going to stop until I have what’s mine.“

“I brought you here to show you something. Come.” Delilah beckoned her to follow and, gnashing her teeth, Emily did. “When I was young, sweet Jessamine and I were closer as sisters, sharing a secret.” Delilah raised her hand and put a finger to her lips conspiratorially as she continued. Emily could see how easily people might be drawn in by her. “Emperor Kaldwin had another daughter, born in shame to a kitchen maid.”

As they walked, the Void rearranged itself and, to Emily’s left, swirling colours appeared and framed by the Void, merged into a painting in Delilah’s instantly recognisable style. Not only that, but when Emily looked at the painting for more than a moment, voices emerged from it. Delilah, she presumed, as a young child, and… Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin.

> _You said that last year! Jessamine’s younger than me and she’s at court every day._
> 
> _Jessamine is — well, it’s complicated. You’ll understand someday. Next year. I promise._

“During the day, Jessamine and I played games in the Tower. But at night, I’d go back to the servants’ quarters, to cockroaches and thin gruel. Then one day, pretty Jessamine broke something worth a fortune, and the Spymaster caught us. She claimed I did it, and he whipped me in the garden house until I bled.” Delilah’s voice broke on those words, but when Emily drew breath to speak, she held up her hand. Something made Emily hold her tongue, but it was not magic. They kept walking, and another painting appeared to their right. Delilah — and another little girl.

> _Delilah’s lying! She broke it!_

“My mother lost her kitchen job, and that night we were out on the streets with no place to sleep. Mother and I saw the nastiest parts of Dunwall, ending up in debtors’ prison. Jessamine died quick on an assassin’s bullet, but my mother lingered for weeks after a fat guard broke her jaw.”

The colours rearranged themselves — a girl, thrown out into the streets.

> _Your mother kicked off while you was out begging. She’s just another bag o’ bones now, girl. You can’t stay here anymore._

“They threw me out when she died. _I_ looked up at the lights of Dunwall Tower and swore revenge. Washing bedsheets at the Golden Cat, that’s where Anton Sokolov found me, and the paintings I’d done on the side. He took me on as a student — that’s the polite word for it. I was crafty even before the Outsider marked me, and survived the worst the Empire had to offer. Now, it’s your turn.” With a sneer, Delilah turned on Emily while, behind her, the Void disintegrated and turned into a swirling vortex — waiting to take her back. “Good luck, little black sparrow. Enjoy these last days of freedom from your cage.”

In a cloud of Void and ash, Delilah disappeared. Reeling, Emily moved towards the portal. It was hard to know whether her _dear old aunt_ was telling the truth. What of it was real — and what was her warped imagination? Was she really Euhorn’s illegitimate daughter, or had she simply convinced herself that she was? Had her mother lied to her, perhaps, to keep another kind of secret? Emily knew that some had called her own mother a harlot for taking up with Corvo — a low-born Serkonan, a foreigner, an uneducated soldier for whom the military had been the only way out of poverty. But still, Jessamine had used all the power at her disposal to raise her daughter as she wished — to put her on the throne, no less. Delilah’s mother had not been granted the same right. But she should have, regardless who really was the child’s father. If it had truly been Euhorn… then shame on him.

As Emily found herself waking, in her cabin and back in her own body, she found her thoughts straying to what she’d considered earlier. And now, this… all of this was a secret. As well connected as Corvo and Daud were, they had never heard of Jessamine’s illegitimate sister — Delilah herself had kept the secret fifteen years ago. Void, they’d asked the Heart, and it barely could tell truth from lie in this. What was more, Delilah seemed to care little for finding a way to make her story known: of being born to an Emperor in shame, but being promised to appear at Court, presented with only more excuses year upon year. Delilah claimed to want to be loved — but it seemed she wasn’t going to rely on the truth to achieve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Wee bit of psychological warfare from Delilah there... I know that, in the game, Delilah just drawing Emily into the Void opens up a bit of a plothole, but I like it just for how extra it is. Delilah tried her best to drive a wedge between Corvo and Daud all that time ago, and now she's trying with Emily and the Heart :// Dialogue largely nicked from the scene, with some extra weirdness sprinkled on top.  
> b) Also: exposition for the Stilton mission! That rhymes! We're heading out into the Dust District again next. And yes, I really did have Stilton kidnapped two months *before* the ritual (check Part 4 if you don't believe me :P). It's all going to make sense, I promise.  
> c) That's it, really.  
> d) Except this: I started playing Red Dead Redemption 2 today and named my horse Daud.


	17. Chapter Fourteen — Why Are the Armies Marching Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World enough and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'ello 'ello 'ello, what's goin on 'ere then? I can tell you what: shenanigans.  
> This is the first part of A Crack in the Slab, the Stilton Manor mission, and it's going to answer any and all questions you might have after last week's exposition -- in re: Stilton's disappearance _before_ the ritual, Meagan's involvement, and all the ways in which Arkane took time travel and used it to break my brain.
> 
> Soundtrack: [In the Shadows, by Amy Stroup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TynHJ0_amDY&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=80).

Finding himself returning to the Dust District yet again, Corvo could not help but feel relief that they might dispense with paranoia as soon as they cleared Batista Overlook. The Grand Guard did not venture further into the territory than absolutely necessary — just enough for them to be able to claim they were keeping an eye on things. It was no different from how Dunwall’s City Watch had liked to keep out of gang disputes during the Plague; but it was the first time in recent history that the two warring factions couldn’t rightly be called ‘rival gangs.’ Or could they? Corvo held no love for the zealots of the Abbey. He’d seen Byrne’s plans for the district, for all of Karnaca _and_ Serkonos. He claimed he wanted to restore order — but for the Abbey, there was no order without obedience, without fear of prosecution. Corvo had served the _state_ long enough to know that division of government and faith was essential to citizens’ liberty. This was precisely why Burrows had secured Campbell’s support before putting his plans into motion. The City Watch alone wouldn't have been enough to cage Dunwall, but with the Overseers roaming the streets, it would have been easy. Corvo was not blind to the dangers posed by entering a bargain — a deal — with one of the most ambitious men in their ranks.

As it was, today they were greeted as allies by both the Overseers and the Howlers, and Mindy Blanchard joined them just as they were about to enter the Crone’s Hand. Corvo removed his mask as they did so, and wondered what it said about him that he felt more comfortable without it here.

“Them Overseer boys haven’t tried to stick Paolo in a week,” Mindy informed them by way of greeting. “That your doing?”

“It might,” Emily answered, easily falling into step with her.

“Heard you had a talk with him a few weeks ago,” Mindy continued. “Heard you didn’t take no for an answer.”

“Is that your way of saying he was impressed?” Emily returned. Behind them, Corvo exchanged a glance with Daud.

“It might.“

Blanchard brought them inside, delivering them to Paolo at the bar. He was polishing glasses — one of his hobbies, apparently. Corvo questioned, at that moment, how come they always seemed to end up deciding the future of the imperial throne in the taproom of a pub.

“Empress,” Paolo greeted Emily first. “And she brings her protectors — or should I say, assassins.” There was no veil obscuring the reference to Kirin Jindosh. Corvo felt his hackles rise, but he knew better than to speak in a misguided attempt to protect his daughter.

“You’ll find it was me who pulled the trigger,” Emily set Paolo straight without preamble, “and it was me who disposed of Breanna Ashworth, too.”

“Ah,” Paolo raised a finger. “Ashworth is not dead. She fled the Conservatory, her girls with her. Those that could still walk, anyway.”

Emily made a show of shrugging. “If she’s not dead yet, she soon will be. There are debts to be paid. And I’m sure her creditors will waste no time collecting.”

Paolo tilted his head. “Now, now, dear Empress. I have to wonder, are you half as heartless and callous as you seem; or is that just years of deciding over the fate of your citizens from your frilly little bed up in Dunwall Tower?”

“Perhaps the request I have to make of you will shed some light on the matter,” Emily replied.

“A request?” Paolo damn near guffawed. “You have a request to make of me? Lady, you still haven’t delivered on any of the other things that we discussed. Such as our esteemed Vice Overseer Byrne, on a plate. Or in a basket, if necessary.”

“What we discussed was your lack of options in dealing with the Abbey,” Emily reminded him. “You will note that we passed through the district unhindered.”

“You’ve spoken to Byrne.“

“Oh, we did more than that. We cleaned up one of his messes.”

Understanding dawned on Paolo’s face. “Ashworth. So now, he owes you.”

“In a way.”

“And what favour are you going to do for me?”

“Haven’t I already?” Emily challenged. Paolo scoffed, shaking his head; but before he could say anything, Emily added, “What if we could get back Aramis Stilton?”

“What?”

Behind Emily, Corvo smirked. “You liked him, didn’t you?” he cut in. “He was one of the only people Luca was even marginally afraid of.”

“Stilton’s dead,“ Paolo declared with a dismissive gesture. “More so if the Duke did take him.”

“We have reason to believe he isn’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it was you,” Emily resumed the lead. “You did the Duke’s dirty work, hoping he would hand over control of the Batista mines to you. Well, more than hoping: you had a deal. But he screwed you; and you’ve been looking for a way to screw him back ever since.”

Paolo’s eyes narrowed. He set down the glass he’d been polishing within an inch of its life, throwing the dish rag onto the counter. The street musicians stopped playing as the Howlers surrounding them stood at attention — or what passed for it in a street gang. For a solid ten seconds, Paolo did not move. Then, erupting, he swiped the glasses he’d just cleaned right off the counter; and they shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. Next to Corvo, Daud shifted subtly.

“We can help you find Stilton,“ Emily offered.

“And what do you want?” Paolo growled.

“I want the combination to open Jindosh’s lock.”

“Oh,” Paolo shot back sarcastically. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.” Emily said pleasantly. Behind the counter, Paolo glowered.

“I like her,” Mindy announced from where she was still leaning against the bar. ”What do you say, boss?”

 

* * *

  

“Daud,” Emily murmured as they left the Crone’s Hand, tugging on his arm and drawing him to the side. “Can you take Mother with you? I know I should have asked before we left, but there was never a moment. I don’t like the thought of taking her into a place that might still be filled with Ashworth and Delilah’s magic,” she told him quietly.

“But Corvo—”

“She asked for you.”

Daud went very still, watching Emily’s face. “She asked..?”

Emily nodded. There was no guile in her, not in this. As easily as she’d just lied right to Paolo’s face, about Stilton and any proof they supposedly had aside from what they’d pieced together from Emily and Corvo’s visit to the Overseers’ outpost; not a word of what she was saying now was a lie. Perhaps Daud should be relieved that he could still tell — that she let him.

“Of course.” Tucked into the shadows outside the saloon, Emily handed over the Heart, and Daud let it disappear into the folds of his coat. Just then, Mindy stepped through the doors and eyed them up and down.

“Ready?”

*

Daud and Corvo followed Mindy through the district, westbound, until they stood before yet another condemned building. Corvo broke open what doors needed kicking down, and Daud judiciously planted a stun mine on their way inside. They found themselves inside an abandoned doctor’s office.

“Duke wouldn’t use one of ours,” Mindy explained as they started picking their way through dust and debris caused by withered bloodfly nests. “Any of our docs would’ve told Paolo what he wanted to know.”

“How do you know this is the right place?” Daud questioned.

“Escuella was one of the Duke’s pets, everyone knew. If you’re sure that Aramis is still alive, he needed him to disappear in ways that don’t involve a shallow grave.”

“So you really don’t know?” Corvo challenged.

Mindy shot him a look. “We just grabbed him, ‘cause we knew how. In hindsight, we shouldn’t have. Too late now.”

They began searching the offices for any paperwork, hidden or otherwise. Floorboards were kicked loose, paintings still on the wall were checked for hidden safes. It was all terribly ordinary, Daud thought: the daily work of blackmailers and agents everywhere. While Corvo moved into one of the back offices that must have also doubled as the surgeon’s sleeping quarters, Mindy and Daud continued searching the reception area.

Daud had just removed a particularly gaudy painting from the wall, indeed revealing a wall safe, when a familiar voice suddenly spoke.

_How did the artist ever convince their subject to sit for this?_

Daud, so used to Jessamine’s — the Heart’s — presence now that he did not even stop before he’d set the frame on the ground, shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

_I say a lot of cheap brandy._

At this, Daud did have to bite his tongue.

Behind him, Mindy shoved at another filing cabinet drawer. “Got a key in there?” She must have spotted the painting by his feet, as she continued, “Fuck, who painted that? I hope whoever they were, they showed her a good time, at least.”

The Heart let out a laugh, and this time, Daud couldn’t stop his own.

“What?” Mindy stepped up next to him. “It wasn’t that funny.”

Daud waved it away. “Someone I used to know… she would have said the exact same thing. Give me that notebook, I think I saw a few possible combinations in there.”

Mindy handed it to him, then leaned against the wall. “So. What was her name?” she asked quietly; keeping her voice down, likely so Corvo wouldn’t hear.

Daud shot her an irritated glance. He shouldn’t indulge a Howler’s vapid curiosity.

“Fine,” Mindy decided while Daud busied himself with opening the safe. "I can see it now. Left her, didn't you, in Dunwall or wherever else, to walk your path? Fell in with wrong people, and now there's no going back to her. It's always the same. Well, looking at Attano ageing like fine wine, I guess you traded up."

Daud ground his teeth, hoping that Corvo couldn’t hear them on the other side of the office. "Right on all counts, Blanchard," he growled, "apart from one. I didn't leave her. She died."

“Oh.” For a moment, Blanchard looked almost contrite. Then, she smirked. “Still. Attano’s a fox.”

Daud finally got the safe open and opted to disappear behind the heavy door. “Don’t let him hear you.”

“‘Course not.” She leaned around the door with him. “Find anything?”

Daud dug out a few files, another thick, leather-bound notebook and some money. “Here, take this. Corvo!”

“Nothing back here,” Corvo called from the other room. “You got something?“

“Come and see.” Were they alone, Daud had no doubt Corvo would have responded with a smart, ‘Yes, dear.’ As it was, he simply appeared next to Daud to look over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Standing in front of the infamous Jindosh lock, Emily did not immediately reach for the combination, written in Paolo’s hand on a scrap of paper. She traced her hands over the ornate revolving pins. Emily did not doubt that there had been many attempts to pry this mechanism open that involved crowbars rather than intellect — or patience. It was not a condition she herself was afflicted with either; and so she had no compunction to use what Paolo had given her.

She turned the pins one by one, first the names and then the objects allotted each character in Jindosh’s little riddle. When she set the last one to the diamond ring, the tumblers began to twist and one after the other, the hollow sound of a catch being released reverberated through the air. When the last of the pins had turned, the door sprang open and held ajar, as if propped open by an invisible hand.

“So Paolo was telling the truth,” Emily murmured to herself. Perhaps, seeing the way he seemed to admire Daud, there was honour among thieves, after all.

She moved to push the door open further, frowning when it barely budged for how heavy it was. Putting her back into it, she widened the gap enough to slip through. What was this, a foot of Morley steel? She was still wondering that when, and she’d barely taken three steps inside, her lungs suddenly felt tight. From one second to the next, she was cold all over, as though tossed into the Wrenhaven at the height of Ice. But the sensation only lasted seconds before she went numb; her senses dulled. It took her a moment of just standing still, just breathing, to understand, however, that this was something else altogether.

She raised her left hand and tried to summon the Void, but it did not work: the familiar warmth was gone. She sighed. This precisely was why she hadn’t wanted to take the Heart with her into this place. Whatever Delilah and Breanna had done to this place, it was permanent — even the air felt different; even out here, it tasted stale. Like air out of a box.

Slowly, she began approaching the house, and found her hand moving to be ready to draw the crossbow. Depending on what she might find inside, she could not afford to be careless.

It was obvious that no care had gone into the upkeep of this place since Stilton’s disappearance. The yard was overgrown and covered in dead leaves — much like Addermire, but where Addermire had been bathed in the humidity of the bay, this place was dry as bones and sand. The beautiful fountains were dried up and rusted shut, and the silver dust had made it past the storm guard, caking every surface that wasn’t already covered in sand and soil. The dust storms wouldn’t get through, though, and so the grounds felt oddly like a place out of time, left behind and forgotten by the way the district had gone to the dogs. None of the strife and misery had gotten through these walls.

Three years ago, five people had changed the Empire from this house; and then had managed to work up a conspiracy to rob Emily of her throne. Of course, they had caught Ramsey conspiring with the Grand Guard. They had known Jindosh was building death machines for Luca. But every time, they’d missed _some_ part of the picture. They’d had no luck in finding Aramis for months, and then _they’d given up_ , because so many of Luca’s adversaries had already disappeared and, some, turned up dead. It had been a very elaborate, very _cunning_ ruse, and Emily was ashamed that they’d fallen for it. There they’d been, that morning in Corvo and Daud’s chambers, believing that they were one step ahead of a military coup led by a dilettante; when, all the time, they’d been five steps behind.

But now, they were getting out in front, and Emily had to believe that breaking in here and, hopefully, rescuing Aramis from wherever he’d been held captive would rattle Delilah’s cage enough for her to get nervous. She had no hope to reverse the ritual from here, as they would hardly have left anything they’d used to do it behind, but there had to still be a way to undo her immortality. If Pathmaker had not stopped her last time, Emily would make damn sure that the next would take. What must it have felt like to Corvo, to attack her that way? After everything he and Daud had done to try to avoid bloodshed, and then this spectre, this _ghost_ from their past had returned as if nothing had ever happened. But Daud had still gone to the Void because of her. Corvo had still turned the Void upside down to get him back, at great personal cost, and then that _witch_ just stepped down from a palanquin, looking exactly as she had fifteen years ago, and with murder in her heart. Emily could only imagine what must have gone through Corvo’s mind, to feel that the only option he had left to protect his family — and the city — was to kill first and ask questions later. Perhaps he hadn’t thought at all, only acted, to protect his daughter. And her throne.

With another sigh, Emily walked up the steps towards the front door of the mansion. Much like Addermire, it had once been a beautiful place, bright and shining. Perhaps it could be again.

What greeted her inside was, oddly enough, much like the outside. Broken plants and leaves were everywhere — remnants of the witches’ magic. Vines encased the walls and the ceiling, as though they’d broken through the foundations of the house and were now making their way upwards to cover every single surface, covering the windows and slowly working to block out all light. Mortar was falling from the ceiling like sand. The foyer was dark and when Emily carefully shut the doors behind her, the atmosphere did not improve. The only source of light was a flickering lamp on the other side of the foyer, leading towards what had to have once been the Great Hall, according to the plans Meagan had shown her. Curious that Luca hadn’t had electricity cut off, Emily marched over to investigate. There were green shards of glass all over the floor; the Rosin-Jalon spirals that generated the light were exposed. Most buildings in Karnaca were furnished with these signature ceiling lamps, encasing three such spirals in large green bulbs. As Emily moved closer, she realised that the light wasn’t flickering so much as phasing in and out, the orb of light getting smaller and then expanding again, as if fighting to maintain the connection. Taking another step until she was right underneath it, she squinted against the light, but when she got a look at the spirals, she saw that one of the metal rings connecting the spirals to the base was broken. She looked around for the light switch, found and pressed it. Nothing. She flicked it back and forth a few times, but the lamp did not cease its flickering, nor did the others light up. So the electricity _was_ off. And yet, there were lights that shouldn’t work — in a house that made her skin crawl and the tips of her fingers go numb; that was broken open like an empty shell by witches’ magic that disallowed her own powers.

She stopped, and listened. It was completely quiet.

The door to the Great Hall was blocked by broken furniture and debris — however long the house had been unprotected before Luca decided to use it for his own ends, the gangs had been prolific in turning everything upside down. Perhaps he’d even ordered it that way, just so that anyone who ever did manage to beat the riddle would find only disappointment.

Just then, the silence was broken by a mark-shattering scream. Instinctively, Emily ducked behind one of the wooden panels sectioning off a small part of the lobby into a waiting area of sorts. It could have only been a Nestkeeper. Crouched low, she moved towards the door, peering through. The entrance of the Hall seemed to be filled with dust rather than bloodflies, but through her spyglass she could see nests glowing on the upper level. Carefully, then.

She moved away from the door and walked towards the stairs. The mansion was by no means small, and she didn’t have all day. She’d do one controlled sweep of the house — for whalebone, for coin, for _people_ — and then she’d figure out where the ritual had been held, and what there was left to find. Seeing as most doorways were blocked, she tried her luck going down the hallway to her left. Another barricaded door, apparently to the kitchens. But down the corridor, there was more light.

Knowing now to follow the cues where they led her, she kept going until she reached the door to what, according to Meagan’s plans, used to be a salon. A wireframe had been jammed into the door, and without knowing what might be waiting for her on the other side, she wasn’t about to start tearing at it. She couldn’t see anyone inside but projected onto the far wall she could make out the silhouette of a grand piano. And atop it… the silhouette of a man, unmoving. When the shadow remained motionless no matter how long she stared, she slowly backed away. The salon on the ground floor was underneath Stilton’s personal quarters on the first floor, she remembered. Perhaps there was a way down.

Keeping in mind that going up the stairs may also lead her right into the arms of a deranged Nestkeeper, Emily kept her tread light and her stun mines where she could reach them. She wasn’t in a mood to waste them, but she, Corvo, and Daud, shared ammunition between them, which left her with precious few sleep darts to begin with. Making her way up, Emily was hit with a stench of mildew and wall rot that was much stronger than it had been downstairs. She wanted to move to the right towards Stilton’s bedroom, when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. On the other side of the door leading into the upper level of the Great Hall, a Nestkeeper was shuffling along, possibly the same one she’d seen earlier. But, perhaps not. This close, she could hear him murmur, could hear him _fuss_ over the hives.

“There, there, my lovelies. Everything’s alright.”

Emily shuddered. Their voices were no longer human, and yet, perhaps, the worst was that they spoke at all. At least Weepers could only groan and spew bile everywhere. Hypatia had mentioned a study that a friend of hers wanted to conduct: harvesting a Nestkeeper’s brain to test the effects on rats and wolfhounds. Emily had found the conversation interesting even as she dreaded the prospect of infected rats and hounds protecting bloodfly hives. She knew what Corvo’s rats were like — and they listened to him, in their frenzy. Over the years, he had developed a strong enough bond with the rats he summoned that he was able to send two or more packs of them into different directions. Emily dared hardly contemplate what it might be like to have a swarm of bloodflies direct the actions of a swarm of fever-infected rats. _Void_.

Once she was sure that the protector of the nests would not see her, she set off swiftly down the hall. Once inside Stilton’s chambers, she realised her good fortune, if it bear out that way: part of the floor had caved in, and some of the gaps were just wide enough for her to slip through. She tried to get a look at whatever was waiting for her, but the angle denied her. From up here, the shadow of a man seemed somewhat familiar… but she shouldn’t like to stake her life on it. With another deep breath, she dropped down into the salon, landing in a crouch to present as small a target as she could.

What she saw when she dropped made her stop short first, and _then_ itch to reach for her weapons. “ _You_?”

The Outsider lazily turned his head to look at her.

_About time_.

“No, you’re right, I would be absolutely livid if I had to sit in here waiting for some spoiled princess for longer than five minutes, too,” she threw back sarcastically, marvelling a little at herself for taking such a tone with him; but she was simply too surprised to hold back.

The Outsider didn’t seem to mind — he was probably used to much, much worse from Daud.

_It has been interesting, seeing you throw your will against the machinery your father and Daud set in motion so long ago. None of this would be happening, if not for them. The choices they made along the way… it’s all coming together now._

“Oh please spare me the riddles,” Emily groaned as she sat down on the plush piano bench. The Outsider did her the courtesy of turning a little to be able to see her, but ignored her remark, sincere though it was.

_Three years ago, something happened here, and a part of this house never left that evening. The Duke's inner circle are still gathered here, setting their grand plan into motion. Delilah's plan. And a part of the Void is always here, still breaking._

Emily, well familiar now with the Outsider’s cryptic soliloquies but not yet resigned to the futility of asking questions, held up a hand.

“What does that _mean_?”

_The Void is not exactly a place, and it's much older and stranger than you could ever know. It watches you from within. And at the heart of Stilton's house, the Void is leaking through a pinprick left by Delilah's little trick. Even magic is perverted here, and things don't work like they should._

The Outsider paused, and next to him something materialised out of thin air — out of the Void. At first, Emily nearly took it for another Heart just for its shape, but then she stood, looked closer and found it was more than that.

_Take this. Imagine it's a kind of… timepiece. Go and watch the Duke and Delilah. See for yourself what they did._

“What do you mean, see for myself?“ Emily had already reached for the Timepiece, but now she saw the Void god fading — of course, just as he’d revealed more questions than he’d answered. Only a vague sense of fear of what he’d do if she overstepped her bounds prevented her from reaching for _him_.

_Just remember… you are not alone, on this night._

With that, he vanished.

“This night? It’s barely noon,“ Emily said to an empty room. Then, she sighed. The Timepiece weighed heavy in her hands. It had a dial on one side, and inside a glass bulb there sat the remnants of a half-corrupted bonecharm, spinning in a pulse of energy. Emily had never seen anything like it. The dial contained symbols she had no hope of deciphering without her library, but at least there were twelve of them, albeit only one hand, encircling one orb while pointing at the one opposite. She supposed if this was a timepiece, it might work like one. Turning it in her hands, she found two switches on the back of it — not labelled, of course. She tried one, and nearly gasped with surprise when several shards, arranged like a fan, unfolded. For a moment, she could only stare; they reminded her so much of Zhukov’s mirror. These shards were not reflective, either, and the glass, if that was what it was, was as uneven and facetted as a mirror created in a forbidden ritual.

Raising the Timepiece to eye level, she realised that she could see _through_ the shards, and what she saw… no, it couldn’t be real. _It couldn’t_. But she knew better, didn’t she? She’d seen glass like this before — in Zhukov’s cursed mirror. Blindly, she felt for the second switch.

_No time like the present_ , she thought, fully aware of the impending irony.

Feeling like she was being pulled through time and space by her navel was not a new sensation for Emily, but this one still left her slightly nauseous when whatever had pulled her through the Void spat her back out at the end of the tunnel.

Which, judging by the calendar propped up on a side table by the door, was _1849_. Before she could move, she heard voices outside. Guards’ voices. It was 1849… the night of the ritual. She was _actually_ here. She could observe the séance, she could find out how they’d brought Delilah back, and what she’d done to make herself immortal. She could—

Emily’s eyes widened.

“Meagan,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) fun fact: I literally booted up the ps4 and loaded the level to properly look at everything; first time I've done that  
> b) also fun fact: I couldn't find any details on the lamps or the spirals, so I named them "Rosin-Jalon" after the concept artists who designed them  
> c) The thing about time travel, especially in games, is that it creates paradoxa. That’s inevitable. If you mess with time, you have to decide which came first, the hen or the egg, and then _stick to it_. Unless you have the luxury of then telling part of the story again, you simply have to establish an alternate version of events that you’re using as the basis for the story going forward.  
>  If players saved Aramis Stilton, Meagan gets her arm and eye back — fact one.  
> If Stilton retains control of his mines, the gang war in the Dust District apparently never happened — fact two.  
> The flip side of both of those things is that the game isn’t entirely clear on whether that renders your painstaking effort in packing off Byrne and Paolo to the mines via Modotti’s silvergraph studio obsolete. The game also decides, inadvertently, that Stilton can’t have ever, ever talked to Meagan about what happened that night, no matter that Em saved him from participating in the ritual and he still would’ve woken up with a killer headache.  
> He can’t have told her anything, because I feel that if canon!Meagan had heard the words “Breanna Ashworth,” and “séance,” in conjunction and the right order, she’d have been like, “You fucking what?”  
> Of course, that can’t happen; and it’s one of the slightly bigger plot contrivances caused by all the time travel shenanigans in A Crack in the Slab. More notes on this at the end of the next chapter!


	18. Chapter Fifteen: The Armies That Were Coming Home to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily and Meagan uncover a secret. Or, Emily and Meagan have a traipse, a bit of a yell, and the heebie-jeebies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, now, is our Emily-Meagan adventure!! More rambling about the time travel repercussions in this mission and how I plotted my way around it in the end notes.
> 
> Soundtrack: [The Hunted (Apocalypse Version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0U3mNZ9XmAE&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=81).

Searching for Meagan would involve more more rooms to search, deserted hallways, and guards than Emily was comfortable with, considering that she had no concept of how much time she had to get to Meagan that night in 1849. She only supposed it was handy that, on her way back out into the lobby, now brightly illuminated, she found two guards, unconscious, stashed in the same little waiting area she had hidden away in earlier. Meagan was already here, and clearing her way towards her target. There was no simply marching into any room — getting close with the Timepiece, Emily had some notion of how many guards might await her, but all of them still had line of sight on the any door. But as seemed to be a theme with this house, the lower levels were accessible from the first floor, which might give her the advantage. So she made her way upstairs, generously cheating her way past guards and servants in the interest of time. Upstairs, she found more bodies, hidden in a guest room. It seemed that Meagan Foster, despite her insistences, had not forgotten Billie Lurk’s ingrained talents.

It still surprised her, however, when she happened upon Meagan at the end of a gallery with a view of the dining room, crouching behind the banister and observing the soldiers downstairs, to find her carrying a familiar weapon. Emily remembered little of the day Delilah had first revealed herself to them, beyond the panic when the Overseers had broken open one of the quarantine barricades. Later, when Daud had returned from the kennels looking tired and drained and _lost_ , Corvo had asked her to hold off on her many, many questions. ‘Lurk will be gone by noon,’ had been all he’d said. Emily had no way of telling whether Meagan still kept her Whaler blade — kept it sharp — in the present, but here it was, on her belt.

Not for the first time, Emily wondered what she had been doing on this night — what she _was_ doing, right now, in Dunwall. Traipsing across the rooftops, pretending she did not know the Whalers were shadowing her at Corvo and Daud’s behest? Curling up with Wyman and Alexi, escaping from her imperial duties? Or working late in her study, going through reports with Jameson and wishing she were anywhere else?

From experience, Emily knew that sneaking up on a trained assassin was foolish at best and fatal at worst; but with the expands of time separating them, what choice did she have. The least she could do, she decided, was to limit the time Meagan had to reach for her sword — she’d need longer to recognise Emily than to gut her on the spot, and she’d do it silently, Emily knew that well enough. Just as Daud had taught her; had taught both of them.

So she dropped into a crouch, and advanced to where Meagan was hidden behind the banister of the gallery. Taking a deep breath, Emily activated the Timepiece.

 

* * *

 

 

With losing her connection to the Void and her old life, Meagan Foster had severed the ties that bound her to Dunwall; to any port. Once upon a time, her dream — Billie Lurk’s dream — had been to be a captain. But then, Billie Lurk’s dreams had changed forever the day a spoilt, royal brat had killed the one person most precious to her. After that, her dream had been to be someone else, someone with a cold heart and a sharp knife, ready to step out of the shadows to visit revenge upon those that had wronged her, and others. The Whalers had never fought _for_ anything: not for glory, not for time. They’d been happy to call it justice, however, little though the coin they made did to help those who laboured inside the nightmare they were busy hollowing out from the inside, one they did not have to live. They slept in abandoned butcher shops and factories, but they answered to no-one — none but Daud. And he gave them all a fair cut. Until _Lurk_ had thrown it all away.

Despite all that, Meagan still listened to her instincts and her gut — so when she felt the _air_ beside her shift and change without warning, when something tugged at her gut the way she remembered it only had a long, long time ago, she knew she would not like what she saw when she turned her head. What she didn’t know — what she couldn’t have known — was that she would come face to face with a profile she’d only ever seen on coin in the past fifteen years. She’d never called her Empress… but never Princess, either. Only ever ‘child,’ or… Emily.

It was _impossible_.

She went for her sword. A hand alighted on her shoulder.

The Empress shook her head. Her face was obscured by a scarf, but Meagan could see her eyes. Meagan _remembered_ those eyes. Slowly, she stood, tugging Meagan up as well.

Meagan did not know what made her follow — she wasn’t one to be gobsmacked with surprise, or to be led along by little girls who were in over their heads. But then Emily looked nothing like the little girl she had left behind in Dunwall. She looked older than she _should_. How old was she now — twenty? No. Twenty-two. Meagan remembered the mission brief: Princess Emily, nine years old. And then, the year of her mother’s death… and its ten-year-anniversary, two years ago. She wasn’t the frightened child anymore — nor the fledgling Empress. This, before her, was someone else.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

She closed the door to the guest room behind them. “Hello, Meagan.”

She’d barely turned back round before Meagan was at her throat, her blade drawn and her hand steadier than it had been in years. Almost as long as since the last time she’d touched this sword. With her free hand, she roughly removed the scarf covering Emily’s face.

“Who are you?” Meagan finally found her voice and, oh, she was _furious_. “You appear out of nowhere, you know my name, which Corvo sure as hell hasn’t given you—and you’re carrying that,” she finished, jerking her chin at what Emily was clutching in her left hand like a lifeline. “That’s not from this world. And you’re not here without a reason.”

“Finished?” Emily snipped.

“Ready to tell me the truth?” Meagan returned.

“I am Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, first of her name, daughter of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and Corvo Attano, Lord Protector of the Empire,” she rattled off, but Meagan shook her head.

“Anyone can learn a title. _Who are you?_ ”

“I… I’m the Princess you abducted, the one you hid away in an abandoned district after a soldier killed her mother. I’m the little girl who played tag with Rinaldo and the others in the empty yard of the Hound Pits pub when Daud wasn’t watching.” She seemed to have hit her stride now, as she continued, “I’m the Empress who grew up calling the two most dangerous assassins in the realm ‘father.’ I’m the Empress you betrayed to the Overseers to fulfil your bargain with the witch who wanted my throne. But I’m also one of four people who know what you did to help Corvo save Daud from the Void. And if I hadn’t just arrived when I did, you’d have been caught, and those Grand Guard bastards down there would have made you pay, Meagan. Dearly.“

“What kind of web of lies are you spinning,” Meagan growled, but she could not deny — though she would, on pain of death — that the words had left her shaken.

“It’s me,” Emily shrugged — carefully. “And I need your help. If you want to waste time asking me what my favourite dessert is, we can. But we don’t have all night, as you well know. I’m here for the same reasons you are. Whatever happened — happens — here tonight, we need to see it.”

Meagan swallowed. Slowly, she lowered her blade, and put it back on her belt. She had no reason to believe her — except that look in her eyes, that damned Attano earnestness that could take anyone for a fool, even (especially) assassins without a heart. But that jackrabbit pulse fluttering against the steel of Meagan’s blade was no lie. She stepped away.

“Alright, then. Say I believe you: what are you doing here? And what type of occult shit is this?“

“Occult?” Emily did her best to play it cool, but Meagan had already seen her flinch.

“Daud teach you to lie?“ she challenged. “Cause I can always tell.”

Emily frowned. “Not always.”

Meagan crossed her arms. When she did so, something strange flickered over Emily’s face. “What?”

For a moment, Emily couldn’t look her in the eye. “The Meagan I know… she’s different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Meagan, I… There’s no way of saying this that won’t make me sound insane, but you have to believe me. I’m from the future.”

Meagan stared at her, incredulously. If she weren’t worried it would alert the guards, she’d laugh.

“From the future? And when’s that supposed to be? And _how’s_ that supposed to be?”

“Three years from now. And with this,” Emily raised her hand between them.

Meagan shook her head, then threw up her hands. “What’s the story, then?” When Emily merely stared at her, she gestured impatiently. “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll decide whether I’ll go to the trouble of believing you.”

“In 1852, on the fifteenth anniversary of my mother’s death,” Emily began, “Duke Luca Abele will stage a coup to remove me from my throne. He will succeed.”

Meagan scoffed, feeling anger rise inside herself. Anger at the ridicule, and hatred for the name. _Duke_ _Luca_. “As if Corvo and Daud would let that happen.” She went to dismiss Emily with a wave of her hand, but then stopped. “Unless… they’re gone. Are they?” Before she could stop herself, she advanced on Emily. “Are they dead?” she demanded.

“No! They’re alive, they’re with me. Well, they’re in Karnaca, in my time. They’re trying to find Aramis Stilton. We have reason to believe he’s still alive.”

“If Luca took him, he’s not keeping him locked up somewhere; he made him disappear. For good.” More hatred darkened Meagan’s heart then. This was the second person dear to her heart Luca had taken from her.

“You know how sentiment makes us do things we know might get us killed?” Emily returned, and Meagan frowned.

“Well enough.”

“We believe Luca couldn’t bring himself to have Stilton killed because of how much he meant to Theodanis.”

Meagan huffed a mirthless laugh. “Would be the first time Luca let his heart conquer his ambition — or his cruelty.“

“Call it heart, call it loyalty… it doesn’t change who Luca is, or will become. But it is a weakness we can exploit. With Stilton back in the Dust District, we can turn back the tide.“

“What does that have to do with _this_?“ Meagan finally questioned. “Why are you here? And what is _that_?”

Emily raised the device. “It’s a Timepiece, it… allows me to travel between the past and the present. Or, rather, the present and your future. Look.” She pressed one of the buttons on the underside, and what looked like shards of glass fanned out above the dial. “I’m not sure… can you see?”

Meagan moved so she could look over Emily’s shoulder — and froze. She could. This room, but changed. Overgrown with vines, grey with dust and rotting leaves.

 _Void magic_.

“Who gave this to you?” It was barely even a question.

“As if you have to ask.”

She’d barely been in this house for half an hour and already Meagan was so, so tired.

“So he got his claws into you, too, hmm?”

Emily shrugged. “I had no choice.”

Meagan tilted her head. She worked hard not to remember every day the moment she’d first felt the Void inside her, or the bond that had formed when Daud had accepted her as one of his own. But this, she knew.

“There is always a choice, Empress,” she said quietly. “And you made it. So did he.“ She looked away. Where fury burnt bright and then burnt out, bitterness would swiftly follow. “A moment ago, you were a little girl, and I would have been happy never to remember you as anything else. And now, you’re just like us. Should have known he’d never stop at you, no matter how hard Corvo and Daud tried to warn him off.”

“Warn him off?”

“Oh, they did. Went toe to toe with him and won. Well. For a time.”

“They never told me that.”

“You were a child.”

Emily’s sad glance turned to a glare.

“Might not be what you want to hear. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“You really are different.“ Emily tilted her head. “The Meagan I know doesn’t like talking half as much.“

“You calling me chatty?” Meagan narrowed her eyes at her.

“I’m not calling you anything. Not calling you Billie Lurk, for one thing.”

Immediately, Meagan’s hackles rose. “Billie Lurk—”

“Is of the past. I know.”

Before Meagan could answer, they were interrupted by voices nearby.

“More soldiers. We have to hide, but we _need_ to stay up here. It’s our only secure way down,” she whispered.

“The master key,“ Emily surprised her by nodding. At her inquiring glance, Emily shrugged. “You did mention that. Or, you will.”

Meagan scoffed. “Time travel. What next?” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I believe you, but I do know it’s going to come back and bite me in the ass.” She pointed at the Timepiece. “Does that thing take two?”

Emily pulled a face. “Afraid not.”

Meagan shrugged. No matter. “Fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”

*

In the end, that Timepiece of Emily’s worked quite fantastically in their favour. Meagan instructed Emily to tamper with the switches controlling the dining room chandeliers, then held out her hand.

“Do you think it’ll work for me?”

Emily looked stumped for a moment, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think it is tied to being touched by the Void to use it… and even if it is, you were, once. The Void can’t have forgotten you entirely.” She readily handed it over — more readily than Meagan had expected, considering that she could very well strand her here.

Meagan wrapped her fingers around the mechanism and weighed the device in her hand. It felt important by weight alone, and even as she felt she should be asking for more information than she was getting, she wanted to just _get on with it_. Whatever the Duke and his friends were planning tonight, they had to find out — and stop them. She could still hardly believe it… a coup. The Empress, robbed of her throne, and in her place… Emperor Luca Abele? Preposterous. But at least it was a future Meagan had no trouble scuppering. It spelt no hope, for anyone. She wondered what Daud and Corvo would say if they knew that Emily’s mission had led to this. A simple quest to gather evidence, and suddenly she was right in the thick of it. And with _her_.

She stopped, suddenly thinking to ask a question that should have been obvious.

“You running missions now?”

Emily nodded, her eyes wide above her scarf as if silently asking, ‘Is this really the time?’

“Who else? Who are your targets?”

“I can’t—”

“Jindosh?” Meagan guessed, but it was a good one. “Those things he’s working on… he’s making them for Luca.”

“Meagan.”

“You know when I get out of here, I could—”

“No. It’s not worth the risk.”

“You’re forgetting that Daud trained me himself,” Meagan told her, leaning close. “If I go after Jindosh, that’s as low-risk as it gets. Especially with the old man not getting any younger.”

“ _I_ took care of Jindosh,” Emily hissed. “And now, we need that key.”

“Fine.” Meagan readied herself. She remembered what her first Transversal had felt like. This was unlikely to be a less nauseating experience. “Here we go.”

It felt like suffocating — like something was sitting on her chest and there was nowhere to go that wasn’t this, never ending, never stopping; until, suddenly, she could breathe again. She gasped for air as she looked around. It had _worked_. Whether this was truly the future, or simply an alternate version of her reality, Meagan could not say. She had read about things like this, in trying to help Corvo to find Daud. Records of abandoned villages, of people fleeing their homes because they were seeing things that could not be true; mirages and hallucinations, people and places that were both there and not, or couldn’t be. If what she was seeing was a mirage, it was a spectacularly convincing one. The state of these rooms was the same as the guest room she’d seen through the shards earlier, withered and overgrown. How could have so much vegetation gotten into this place, she wondered. Then again… nature found a way. The Flooded District had been the best example: the Wrenhaven had taken it back, and the Plague had done its part.

Quickly, Meagan oriented herself. If she got back down to ground level and used the large dining room table as cover… excellent. It hadn’t been moved.

Alright. Smartly, now.

*

With the master key, it almost became _too_ easy.

“That’s the last one,” Emily said as she heaved a Grand Guard officer over her shoulder and tucked him into the linen closet Meagan had opened.

It was only at the door to Aramis’ study that they were stumped. They’d cleared the entire house — whatever was going on, it was in there.

“I’ll—hold on.” Emily activated the Timepiece, and the air around her flickered as she disappeared; and then swam before Meagan’s eyes as she returned, looking a little queasy. “Ngh... this thing was not made for short trips. Try 2-3-8.”

Meagan did, to no avail. Emily cursed.

“The door is barred in the future, there’s no getting in.”

“Hmm.” Meagan stepped closer to examine the dials.

“You’ve never seen the lock with the door open?”

Meagan cut her a glare. “Aramis never let anyone inside. This house is — was — always swarming with guests. This and his private quarters are the only rooms truly his own.” She went back to examining the dials, when something caught her eye.

“Here. There are scratches on the casing. Seems fresh. Someone opened this.”

“It’s how Luca forced the door. We can do the same.”

Meagan shook her head. “No. I know these locks. They can be reset by pressing a button inside the casing and then entering a new code, but to get at the button, you need to remove another casing inside; and that only opens with a tiny, special key. Did Corvo and Daud teach you nothing?”

“Shit,” Emily cursed.

In response, Meagan removed a small knife from her belt, and started running the edge of it under the rim of the casing to find the release catches. The first catch snapped and she went to look for the second. She let out a laugh when she felt the it give way to her tinkering. “Now what? Want to pick the tiny lock?”

“If we have to. But try setting the pins to 4-5-1 first.”

“That’s the standard combination—”

“Set by all Winslow safes, yes, I know. Corvo and Daud did teach me,” Emily snipped, but it seemed in good humour. “If Luca had the lock reset to suit his needs, he might have not looked further than that.”

“The man’s an imbecile, but he’s also paranoid,” Meagan reminded her.

“In three years there’s a monstrous Jindosh lock on the front door of the mansion. Luca doesn’t care about the combination on this door.“

“If we’re wrong, this’ll be on your head,” Meagan warned.

Emily shrugged. “Be my guest.”

Taking a deep breath, Meagan turned the dials. A moment later, the door unlocked. “I’ll be damned.”

“I’ll go inside. You wait out here.”

“What? Not a chance! I didn’t just traipse through this place, squeezing in between the present and the future, so you can keep this to yourself.“

“Meagan, it’s too dangerous. I need you on the Wale three years from now.”

“Oxshit,” Meagan hissed. “Look. Whatever part of me you know in the future, she must have dulled herself down with booze and cigars, because you aren’t all that sharp, lady,” Meagan growled. “And I know when you lie. You _know_ what’s in that study. What are they doing in there? _Who_ is in there?”

Emily sighed, turned away, turned back, sighed again. “On this night, Duke Luca Abele, Grand Inventor Kirin Jindosh, the Crown Killer, and Breanna Ashworth are conducting a ritual to bring back Delilah.”

“Delilah? But she—Daud and Corvo threw her into the Void. She took Daud _with her_!”

“She’s coming back. Three years from now, she’s going to come to Dunwall and take my throne.”

Reeling, Meagan did her best to push the dread, and fear that made her sick to her stomach, away. “So we get in there, and we stop them,” she bit out.

Emily shook her head. “Tonight, Delilah makes herself immortal. And I don’t think there is anything we can do to stop her.”

“There has to be _something_.” There had to be. To think that Delilah was returning… _no_.

“I don’t think there is. When… when he gave me this,“ she raised the Timepiece between them, “the Outsider told me to observe. Not to interfere. Whatever the Void is doing to this place… I’m not sure whatever we will see in that study will be either our present or our past. Just… something in between.“

“Fine. But when I’m out of here, I’m writing to Corvo, and I—”

“No.”

“Emily!”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought about it? To use one of the guards as messengers, willing or unwittingly? But we can’t. We have to let this play out; and you have to lie, and hide what you know until I leave tonight. The Coup has to happen as it did, otherwise—”

“No. No, you’re asking too much of me, _Empress_. Twelve years ago, I led Delilah to your door; and now, I have a chance to make that right, and you’re telling me to sit and wait for three years, knowing exactly what’s coming? I can’t do that.” Was this the measure of cruelty in her punishment, she wondered. Was this the price she paid, after all? Had it not yet been enough? But no, she supposed. Hiding herself away at the other end of the world, she had yet to settle her accounts.

“Then call it penance.”

Even as she’d expected it, Meagan felt bitterness rise within her. She watched as Emily swallowed, guilt flashing through her eyes even as she steeled herself.

“For what you did to Father.” When Meagan still did not react, Emily looked about ready to stamp her foot. “To Daud!”

“Daud is not—”

“Meagan, he is your father as much as he is mine, and you _know_ that if you warn him tomorrow, he will come through that door within a week to get himself killed; and Corvo will follow right behind him as he always does. And in 1849, they won’t take me with them.” Emily was staring at her now, imploring. “Please. If everything remains at it was, the people I love are still alive, if not safe. Including you.”

Meagan groaned. Why was she considering this? She hadn’t seen the Empress — the _girl_ — in twelve years, or fifteen, whichever was true tonight, and now she presumed to make demands. She cut another glance at Emily’s face. Well. Desperate ones.

“Three years, Emily. It may not be the slow path for you, but it will be for me.“

“I know. But if you’re lucky, you won’t remember the future that we changed tonight. Consider that.”

For a long moment, Meagan couldn’t speak. Then, she said, “We go inside, together. And I promise I will keep my mouth shut.”

“Thank you.”

Meagan shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet. Whatever’s in there…” Taking one more deep breath, she opened the door, then paused. “And we had better not get eaten,” she warned. Emily, inexplicably, smiled.

*

They stepped inside the study, and found… chaos, albeit a different kind.

“The magic feels strongest here,” Emily whispered. “It’s all over the house, but…”

No matter how long it had been, Meagan could feel the chill settling into her bones. Something was _wrong_ inside this room. “Can you use the Timepiece?”

“No,” Emily whispered after a moment. “It’s blocked. Look at the walls… everything…”

Before Meagan’s eyes, paintings flickered, chairs appeared upright and then tipped over… and everything swirling with the ashen grey of the Void.

“The Void is leaking,” Emily murmured. “The present… _and_ the future. It’s all the same in here.”

“So then where are they?“ Meagan asked, but before Emily could answer, a voice cut through the quiet.

“This defies rational understanding!”

Meagan reared back, startled, then ground her teeth. Jindosh.

“What we’re about to attempt has never been done. It’s beyond even my understand and certainly beyond yours. If anyone has any doubts, set them aside now.”

Ashworth.

“Yes, I can feel it! We risk madness.”

“Who’s that?” Meagan recalled Emily’s explanation. “The Crown Killer?”

Emily nodded.

“Who?” At Emily’s warning glance, she sighed. “I won’t _do_ anything to put myself at risk. Who?”

“Come and see for yourself.”

“Emily—”

“They can’t see us. They’re spectres, just like the rest of this place.“

Meagan moved up beside Emily and saw that she was right. The Duke, Jindosh, Ashworth… and, if Meagan didn’t know better, Alexandria Hypatia were standing in a circle, preparing for what they were about to do. But it couldn’t be. Meagan turned to look at Emily, a leaden weight in her gut. How had she not known?

“Tell me it’s not her. Not Hypatia.”

Emily’s expression was apologetic. “It’s her.”

“But you’ll save her?” Meagan asked urgently. “She won’t be like this forever?” Having to extract that promise chaffed worse than anything. Addermire was just across the bay…

“I promise.” Emily drew her from her thoughts, then looked to her right. “Come on. They’re gone. We need to get downstairs.”

*

Below, in a circle of runes and sigils, there stood an effigy made of dead flesh, and it bore a face Meagan had vowed never to see again the day she left Dunwall, fleeing from Daud’s mercy.

“Delilah,” she whispered.

Before their eyes, the ritual unfolded, the magic that had distorted and wounded this house laid bare, and from Void and ash and mud, Delilah was born again.

“I am here, returned from the cold. From forever.” Delilah had no sooner spoken the words than something tore at her, pulling her towards the effigy.

“What is—oh, Void.” Emily turned away, but Meagan could not take her eyes away as Delilah tore out a piece of herself and locked it inside what was made of bone.

Inside the circle, Delilah staggered.

“My spirit is safe now, inside this thing. Luca, you must lock it away.”

The scene dissolved — and started anew. Meagan watched, transfixed, as Delilah instantiated herself, over and over, back in the world, imprisoned her spirit and collapsed against Luca and Breanna. She looked exactly the same.

“She bathed your heart in poison,“ Emily’s voice was suddenly in her ear, and her hand back on her arm. “Don’t forget that.”

“I could never.” She looked over at the statue. “This is how she made herself immortal?”

Emily nodded. “We must find it.“

“So we will.” Meagan tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade. “But now, we need to leave. I’m not watching this for a moment longer.“

“Gladly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Quickly, they made their way back through the house, until they’d arrived outside, at the door leading back out into the Dust District. Emily watched the Timepiece spin in her hand.

“I doubt he’ll let me keep this,“ she said quietly.

Meagan shrugged.

“Everything the black-eyed bastard does comes with a price. You’re lucky if this time he only seeks the return of what he gave you.”

Emily shook her head. There was so much she should say, and so little time.

“I need to return to my own time. Meagan… thank you. I won’t—I _hope_ I won’t forget this.”

Meagan nodded. “If you do, there’s nothing lost but your good opinion of me.”

“Something I’m sure you can do very well without,” Emily teased, but there was sadness in it, too. Loathe to draw this out any further, she adjusted her grip on the Timepiece. “Goodbye, Meagan. See you soon.“

“Goodbye, little Empress,” Meagan said quietly. “Be safe on your journey.”

With one last nod, Emily activated the Timepiece.

*

After spending so long in the past, it was jarring to return to the future — the present — and find herself back in the abandoned yard of the mansion. To her right, the door, to her left, the dust and decay. She wondered what Aramis would say when he returned to this. She hoped he would find the spirit to have this place made whole again. Except, perhaps, for that one pinprick.

She would never understand all that the Void was, or what it could be if one had the sight to see. Delilah did; and there was no question as to how much her return had affected Meagan. She could only hope that she had kept her word. Once she stepped through this door, she would know, either finding the world unchanged, or altered beyond reckoning.

Briefly closing her eyes, she reached for the door. As she passed through, the Timepiece disintegrated in her hand, her connection to the past — gone. Only her memories remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When plotting out this story, I decided to change a few things; not merely in the effort not to have this be a 1:1 retelling of the game with two added protagonists, but to improve on one or two aspects so I wouldn’t break my own brain doing mental gymnastics to try and explain the new timeline.  
> That’s why Aramis Stilton was never present the night of the ritual, they had him abducted months earlier to get him out of the way. Using his house was a mere convenience. Originally, I’d even contemplated getting another person to join them for the ritual — Janice Tines, perhaps, making it necessary to have the Crown Killer eliminate her later. But I realised that they are of course able to conduct the ritual without a fifth person, so they make do.  
> Meagan has to be convinced — by Emily — not to warn Corvo, to make sure that the timeline remains intact. That’s the biggest gamble I’m taking, but by the grace of the author, it works out. Little things still change, but they’re mostly in how the characters react to one another. But all interactions up until Chapter 14/15 are written in such a way that they work with the rewritten timeline as well — Meagan being cagey and not telling the whole story in 13, etc.  
> I also removed Delilah’s threat against the ones watching her in the present. Having Meagan there with Emily just puts her at risk; and I’ve always felt that Delilah seeing through time at that moment was a little... too odd.


	19. Chapter Sixteen — One Hand on the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars shine brightest at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be feels. Long note at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Soundtrack: [The End, by Diane Birch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Y3PJTPDz7k&index=82&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

Daud sighed as he leaned against the ship’s railing, letting his head fall forward.

“Been a while since I abducted someone from an _asylum_ ,” he rumbled. Corvo stepped up beside him, close enough for them to touch; and Daud was grateful for the solid pressure against his side. Knowing Corvo was there, and would be, until either or both of them... ah, he was getting old. And soft.

“At least Aramis is safe now. And his face when he recognised you was quite something,” Corvo said quietly, but with amusement teasing out the edges of his discomfort. He had to be just as exhausted as Daud felt. “Mindy said she’d take what we discovered back to Paolo, see how it sits with him.”

“She’s on our side in this?” Daud asked doubtfully. Blanchard was direct and not given to empty promises, which he appreciated. But her loyalty to Paolo and the Howlers would supersede any sympathy she might have for them.

“I think she wants this mess to be over, after three years of it. She’s certainly someone who strives on conflict, but this all-out war… She wants to live, not become a martyr,” Corvo answered, his conclusion based in years and years of dealing with members of Dunwall gangs and less, perhaps, his own experiences.

That was where they differed: Daud had been an assassin for so long before all this. He may have never sought the conflict itself, but the ensuing chaos, before it settled, had always yielded a profit — blood begat enmity. There’d been rage in him, and a lust for blood, and he’d satisfied it the way the Void had shown him how. Only, later, he realised it hadn’t been the Void: it had been what was inside him, and he’d followed it blindly into the dark. Raising himself out of it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he’d managed it only with Corvo Attano by his side. Not to show him the way, but to trust that he could. Corvo had always done what needed doing, but his way had been another. The better way, perhaps. The irony was striking: one man killed for coin, the other for a crown, and now they were both fighting for a throne that no-one at Court would have ever wanted to see them near.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Daud eventually said as he dragged a hand down his face, rubbing at his chin. “I only wonder if—”

He didn’t get to finish as suddenly a cry was raised from above.

“Daud! Lord Attano! Help!”

Stilton. They’d left him with Meagan, who had been eager to welcome her friend. They’d gone upstairs, to the ship’s bridge, to talk undisturbed. Exchanging a look, Corvo and Daud started running, then blinked and transversed their way up, neglecting the stairs. Shouldering through the door first, Daud found Stilton kneeling beside Meagan, who was on the floor, unconscious.

“We were talking, and then she just collapsed,“ Stilton told them as he turned to tear the covers off Meagan’s cot in the corner, balled it up and lifted her head to place it underneath. “Best not move her yet, she bumped her head on the way down.”

Daud nodded, and was going to kneel by her to check her breathing; only, for a moment, it was as though he couldn’t look at her, as though staring right into a floodlight from a yard away. Something… something was wrong.

“Daud!” Corvo’s voice snapped him out of it from where he was halfway down the stairs to fetch Hypatia, and Daud crouched low and carefully took both of Meagan’s wrists to see about her heartbeat. All through it, she didn’t move a muscle.

“Hypatia!” Daud bellowed, to save Corvo the trip. “Alexandria, we need your help, now!”

Not two moments later, there were steps running up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Hypatia called before she could even see them. When she arrived on the landing, she blanched. “Oh no. Oh no, Meagan.” She’d brought her bag with her, and knelt next to Stilton. “Meagan? Meagan, can you hear me?“

Hypatia retrieved smelling salts from her bag and waved them under Meagan’s nose. Meagan remained unresponsive, but her breathing, at least was steady.

“She hit her head pretty hard when she collapsed,” Stilton explained. “Perhaps that knocked her out proper.”

“If that is the case, it’s even more imperative that we get her up soon.”

“Concussions are a nasty business,” Daud agreed, having had dealings with them more often than he’d liked in the past, what with having as many as a dozen Whalers in training at once, way back when.

“Let’s get her downstairs first, into my cabin. I can examine her there.” Hypatia sighed. “I wish I had some of my lab equipment here with me, to make a restorative.”

“I’ll send word to Lucia. Perhaps she can help,” Stilton offered.

Hypatia set a hand on his shoulder. “It’s so good to have you back, Aramis.“ She looked up at Daud and Corvo. “Please help me move her downstairs?”

“Of course.”

Slowly, they began gathering her up, but Corvo ended up carrying Meagan down the narrow stairs on his own.

“I need to return to the Dust District, to pick up Emily. Sun’s setting,” he said to Hypatia as she began bustling around Meagan. “But Daud and Stilton will stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine. Go, go!” Hypatia shooed them all out of the room. “You know how useless you are when you’re hovering.”

Corvo, no doubt reminded of the way she’d repeatedly shoved him out of his own quarters during Daud’s recovery, smiled slightly, then nudged Daud out of the doorway. “I know. Come on,” he added in a whisper. “Aramis, you too.”

“I just want her to be alright,” Aramis said quietly, his brisk demeanour from earlier now replaced by concern for his friend.

“Hypatia’s going to take care of her,” Daud reassured him. “I’ll help Corvo ready the skiff.”

*

“Don’t tell Emily when you pick her up,” Daud told Corvo as he climbed into the skiff. “I don’t want her to worry all the way back here. Whatever she’s seen in that house, it’ll be enough for one day.“ He held out Corvo’s mask for him to take.

Corvo nodded in thanks, and then leaned over the railing, grasped Daud’s coat by the lapel, and reeled him in for a kiss.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered against Daud’s lips.

“Go. Be careful.” Daud watched as Corvo put on the mask, then loosened the cables binding the skiff to the Wale. “And bring our girl back safe and sound.”

Corvo touched his first two fingers to the mask’s cruel grin and then laid them on his chest, over his heart: a silent promise. _You have my word._

 

* * *

 

Daud remained on deck after that. He went and sat on the crates towards the bough of the ship, patted his pockets for the cigarettes he’d pilfered from a guard at the asylum, and watched the sun as it sank lower and lower until it bled, crimson, into the bay. He waited.

_I wonder if you remember me as I was. Sometimes I think of those days. Do you?_

Jessamine’s words did startle him, but not the sound of her voice. He was so used to it now, and to the feeling of her heart close to his own, to the comfort it brought, even now. He extinguished the ash under his boot and retrieved the Heart from inside his coat.

“Of course I remember.”

_I feel as though… as though I’m living in a memory, but everything around me is too bright to see. I remember… such a short time ago, I was girl. Then, a young woman. In love. Then an Empress. Now what am I? Your ghost. Yours, and Corvo’s, and Emily’s. Even as I know I am fading to the Void, I feel as though I haunt your lives for the scraps of memories I cannot let go. And it feels every time I stop to consider the pain it may cause you is fewer and farther between than the last._

“None of this is your fault,” Daud sought to reassure her, but he knew it was not enough. “Or, equally, we are all to blame. For our selfishness, our blindness. For leading Emily into… into this.”

 _Our daughter_ , the Heart whispered, and something inside Daud ached. _She carries your and Corvo’s lessons within her. Mine, as well._

Daud smiled, wistfully. “I know she isn’t mine, but I—I did what I could, I swear to you, I did.” His voice broke on this oath, and he averted his eyes. “I swear.”

 _Daud, she is your daughter in everything that matters. She loves you; and you protected her when all you had left was a vow, the tatters of a plan, and a broken man and child in your care. What you did for them, for her… You were nearly friendless and hunted like a beast. Yet still you acted with honour. When I found you in the Void, I could only think to tell you how angry I was, but I was so full of gratitude, too. You made yourself the carrier of Corvo’s burdens and his grief, and never once did you stop to consider your own heart. You were so stubborn,_ she accused, and Daud could not help but bark a laugh. _We both are. And I’ve missed you. I will miss you._

“Jess,” Daud objected in a whisper. He’d never called her that. He’d never felt he had the right. He’d always believed that grief for her was not his to bear, that although he felt it, it was not him who should go on his knees and let it do with him as it will. He had to be strong, stand tall, for Corvo and for Emily. But now, in the dark, he needed her. He missed her.

_There will come a time when we must part. I only tell you this in the hope to make easier our farewells._

Emily had asked him once if he’d loved her mother, and he’d said no; but now he found himself a liar. Only, how much more painful was it to have fallen in love with the memory of a person, and to know that you could have — would have — loved them, had they lived?

He could never tell Corvo, or Emily, or any living soul. But now, as he was out and watching the stars with her he said, very quietly, "Your ghost, your memory. The part of you that will always be Corvo’s, it will always be a part of me, too.“

_I know._

“I will help you find peace, no matter the cost.”

_Daud—_

“I promise.“

_Don’t you see, Daud? That good man you dreamed of? It’s you. It’s always been you. You lost your way, walked a darker path. But you fought to change your course, and you proved that you could be that man again._

He shook his head. For decades, Daud had fed conflict in Dunwall and the Isles — it was Corvo who’d always sought to end it. But he had no time to answer, as from behind, he heard the purring engine of the skiff, coming closer. Quickly, he wiped at his eyes.

“They’re back,” he rasped.

_Help Emily end this, Daud. For all our sakes._

* * *

 

End of Act II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This: Elizabeth Gilbert on Love and Loss is an excellent essay on grief that I read a few weeks after finishing this chapter, and that absolutely fits with what Daud is feeling here. To paraphrase: Grief tells him that he’s loved, in whatever way it's taken hold, a woman whom death has taken beyond his reach, and he bows before it as he’s never done, and he says, “I am willing to let this be true.”
> 
> This is the true extent of Daud’s character growth in the past 400,000 or so words. Accepting love, but accepting its loss, as well; and it’s why I love Florence + the Machine’s “Never Let Me Go” so much for him, simply because of this line: “I’m not giving up, I’m just… giving in.” That’s his whole deal. He’s not giving up his carefully guarded heart, he’s not becoming a different person, but he is accepting the reality of his feelings. And it started not with loving Corvo, but with the promise he made Jessamine before she died. There’s no weakness in this surrender — it’s about finding strength in letting love move through him.
> 
> I rarely go meta in the notes like this, but it’s been nearly two years and Daud has had a long, long journey to get here. THIS is the conclusion of the arc that began the first time he met Jessamine and Corvo. His story is not yet done, but this is what his character development in _assassins don’t take sides_ has been leading to. Giving in.


	20. Chapter Seventeen — O Children of the Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck. There's news from Dunwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned from my brief social media hiatus! But tonight, I'm still tired. It's been... a week, and I'm like 3k away from finishing this story. THIS WEEKEND. And then, new tattoo. On Monday! Next chapter, also on Monday. Yay!
> 
> Soundtrack: [Broken Crown, by Mumford & Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXzDu071RdQ&index=83&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

When Emily left the Dust District through Batista Overlook, it wasn’t Meagan who was waiting for her, but Corvo.

“Where’s Meagan?“ She could hardly have been detained, and Captain Foster was not one to miss appointments.

“She’s not well,” was all Corvo said, and Emily very nearly flinched. Could he—could he remember? She ought to ask, but there really was no _subtle_ way to enquire whether one of their closest allies had regained a limb and an eye.

“What happened?” she asked instead, and Corvo shrugged.

“Stilton was with her, he called Daud and me up to the bridge to help. He’s fine,” he added, oblivious to the true cause of Emily’s concern. “Hypatia’s taking care of Meagan. How was the Dust District?“

‘A good question,’ Emily _wanted_ to reply, but couldn’t. From what she could tell, nothing had changed. Lucia Pastor’s apartment had still been ravaged by storm and time, and the wind had still carried with it the howling battle cries of Paolo’s people. But Corvo was still here, and he looked unchanged except perhaps for the way he’d cut his beard. Meagan had kept her word.

When she took too long to reply, too lost in her thoughts, Corvo gently nudged her shoulder.

“Em.”

 _Oh_ , she thought. Em. He hadn’t called her that in years. And she could never tell him what she’d seen tonight. Not the whole of it, anyhow.

“I know how Delilah made herself immortal, now. Stilton’s house is… in disarray, but it can be restored, if he feels up to the task. If he does, we should help.” As Corvo deftly manoeuvred the skiff out towards the bay via the canal, she sighed, then put her head back to look at the sky. “We should help as many as we can.” Her heart was heavy with the thought.

“What’s wrong?” Corvo asked quietly.

At first, Emily shook her head, but she knew Corvo would simply wait her out — same as he did with Daud when he was in a mood; and perhaps Emily should be disgruntled that this worked on her just as well as on his husband.

And still, she said quietly, “Perhaps you should have never put me on the throne in the first place, after Mother’s death. Just… stay at the Hound Pits, get out of the city when we had the chance after putting Burrows down.”

Corvo frowned at her. “And let Delilah have it?”

“Let the people have it. My authority is not absolute, nor ought it be. I tried to push back against Luca, but there were still so many things I did not see; even with Daud travelling to Serkonos so often. How could we let Addermire deteriorate so badly? We knew the Dust District was drowning, but near Batista Overlook, things are _devastated_. How can one person be equipped to rule an Empire, if they miss what’s right under their nose?”

“You’re not doing it alone, Emily.” Corvo took her hand, and his eyes were kind. Would that he knew how to be disappointed in her. “You’re working with the other Isles, you’ve got Parliament, you’ve got your council. You’ve got me, and Daud. You can’t make every single decision yourself, and it’s right that you shouldn’t want to. But you _are_ the Empress.”

“But should I be? If so few fought for me, if so many turned their backs…”

“Delilah uses more than coin to grease the wheels. Remember her paintings? She poured poison into people’s hearts, she near possessed them. Arnold Timsh was in love with her, but he was frightened of her, too.” Corvo paused. After a while, he added, “Palace life has made me soft.” Emily went to protest, but he continued, “I used to fight for every scrap of food, after my father’s death. Now, I fight to hold on to a title and my daughter’s throne.” He shook his head, and Emily could see the weight on his shoulders. “I know that Daud hates the thought of how I came to Dunwall — a gift, made by Theodanis to your grandfather. He will never understand that I’ve made my peace with it.”

Emily’s heart ached at the thought, but still she had to ask. “Do you ever regret it?”

Corvo sent her a look full of warmth. “And regret knowing you? Never.” Just as he spoke, they came up on the Wale. “Daud will be relieved to know you’re safe.“

He stopped the engine so that they floated close to the ship. Just as they touched the hull, there was movement above them — Daud. Emily waved up to him, and called, “How’s Meagan?”

Daud cut Corvo a wordless glare, to which Corvo waved a hand at Emily.

“Meagan was supposed to pick her up.”

Daud released the steel cables to secure the skiff and waited as Emily and Corvo attached them, then activated the winch. Once the skiff had fully left the water, he reached out a hand to help Emily up and over.

“And I told you not to tell her until you’re back,” he rumbled.

“You also said to return her safely. I can only do so much at a time,“ Corvo teased, securing the winches once the skiff was up.

“And see, he obeyed,“ Emily decided to help him make his case; the levity of the moment letting her forget her worries.

“Obedience is not a word Corvo knows very much about,” Daud commented drily.

“Aye,” Corvo grunted as he heaved himself up on deck. “So?”

“Better. Hypatia says she might have had a panic attack, but she settled down after she gave her a sedative. She should be up by now,” Daud said, and smiled, but something about it was brittle.

“Daud,” Emily put her hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering to Corvo, then back to her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Emily exchanged a quick glance with Corvo, who surreptitiously shook his head. Taking the hint, she merely gently squeezed Daud’s arm. “It can’t have been easy, seeing Meagan in distress, is all. I’ll go down to see her,” she added before either Daud or Corvo could object, and left them to talk. She supposed Corvo would have more success at teasing out of Daud what had him seem a little off.

Once she’d arrived below deck, Emily took a moment to compose herself. Neither Daud nor Corvo had seemed particularly different, but she was well aware that their behaviour was not what she was dreading — nor was it Aramis’ presence. If Meagan had held in her anger at being made to travel the slow path all this time, then now would be the moment to let Emily have it. When she finally forged on, she met Hypatia in the hallway.

“Where’s Meagan?” she asked immediately.

“Emily!” Hypatia lay a hand on her chest as though she had been startled. “I’d quite forgotten we ought to expect you back so soon. With everyone being gone all day, I must have lost track of time. Meagan is in my cabin. She’s resting, but she’s awake.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. Is your father up on deck?”

Emily bit back the instinctive ‘which one,’ and instead simply nodded.

“Thank you. Go on now, Meagan will be pleased to know you’re back.” Hypatia waved her on while she started climbing the stairs.

Emily waited another minute, to see if Daud might come down, but when no-one showed their face, she continued on and around the corner to Hypatia’s cabin. Peering inside through the half-open door, she lightly knocked.

“Meagan?”

“Come in,” Meagan’s voice answered. She sounded just the same.

Emily entered, and found Meagan sitting up on the cot, looking up at her expectantly.

“Hello,” she greeted softly.

Meagan looked her up and down, her gaze halting at her shoulder. She beckoned her closer, and when Emily sat on the edge of the cot, she reached out to touch Emily’s lapel. She rubbed off some of the dust and sand and rubbed it between the fingers of her right hand. “I remember that spot. You got covered in dust when the balcony nearly came down on you.” Slowly, she shook her head. “All this time, I remembered… but I never quite believed it was true.”

“How was the slow path?” Emily asked.

Meagan tilted her head. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” Emily confessed. “I try to remember, and it’s like we’re back in Aramis’ study — everything’s shifting, overlapping, flickering in and out. It’s as though I have two sets of memories, and they’re not all that different.”

Meagan hummed. “You know how? Keeping my cards pretty fucking close to my chest,” she muttered. “I figured pretending I’d never gotten past the guards would preserve the lie. And all that time, I worried that something would happen to you and we’d never even get to that place.”

“Do you remember… other things?” Emily asked hesitantly.

At this, Meagan’s somewhat more open expression shuttered. “There’s things best left alone when playing around with time, Empress,” she deflected, but her tone wasn’t as biting as Emily would have expected it to be. “Be glad that you took the other way around.”

“I am,” Emily assured her. “I’m only sorry you had to suffer for it. What happened?“

Meagan shrugged. “I couldn’t breathe, and everything felt too small and big at the same time. Splitting headache, and my right arm felt like it was on fire.” She gave Emily a searching glance. “When you said that… going in there alone cost her—me…”

“The Meagan I knew had lost an arm and an eye,” Emily admitted quietly. She’d not wanted to name specifics when they were in the house, but now she may as well — finally — tell her the truth. “The Grand Guard caught her trying to steal the key.”

Understanding dawned on Meagan’s face. “And with the Timepiece… piece of piss.“

Emily nodded. Scooting further back on the cot, she leaned her back against the hull. Meagan shot her a critical glance from the corner of her eye.

“We’re not friends, you and I, just because you tampered with time.”

“I know,” Emily replied cheerfully enough.

Meagan herself settled back as well. “Good.”

Emily hid a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Up on deck, Corvo had removed his mask and barely drawn breath to apologise to Daud for not heeding his request when he found himself with an armful of assassin. Kissing him softly, Daud wrapped his arms around Corvo’s back and squeezed tightly, once, before letting go.

“What..?” Corvo trailed off, a little confused.

Daud avoided his gaze at first, but then looked up. “I spoke to Jessamine.”

“Oh.” In response, Corvo wound his arms over Daud’s shoulders, keeping him close. “What did you talk about?”

“I think you know,” Daud rumbled, shifting closer so they were chest to chest. “I felt I should tell her. That I… miss her, too.”

The ache that went through Corvo then was visceral, and deep. “I love you,” he whispered. Watching Daud handle the Heart with as much care as he had in the past weeks… their mourning for her, their grief, hadn’t been separate anymore for a long time, now. They grieved for her together; perhaps they had from the start. Being with Daud, he never felt as though something — someone — was missing. But they both knew what it was to have lost _her_. What might have been. They’d never put it into words, and they barely needed to now. It was simple, and it was what it was.

Daud smiled quietly. “We know.“

Corvo leaned down to rest his forehead against Daud’s temple. “I’m sorry I told Emily about Meagan.”

Daud huffed out a breath. “You’re too handsome to stay angry with and you know it. Come on, it’s getting late. It’s our turn with dinner.”

Corvo couldn’t help a smile at the domesticity of the statement. Meagan herself had told him she’d never actually _seen_ Daud cook, even though she knew he must have done it regularly at the ‘school,’ as she still called it. Some habits died either hard or never, and this one seemed to stick.

“What are we making?”

“Well, we could make hagfish dumplings,” Daud said, deadpan, waiting for the undoubtedly anticipated look of disgust to appear on Corvo’s face, before continuing, “but we have what we need for some sorropotún.”

Corvo wanted to scold himself for how quickly his knees went weak at that. “We just happen to have everything for sorropotún?“ he asked.

Daud made a show of shrugging. “It’s a solid staple dish.”

Before Corvo could call him a liar for his trouble — or kiss him, far more likely — the door behind Daud opened and Hypatia stepped out on deck.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, Hypatia,“ Corvo interrupted her gently. He and Daud extricated themselves, but by no means hastily, and remained standing close, with Corvo’s hand searching the small of Daud’s back to linger there. “What is it?”

Hypatia looked undecided for a moment, but then seemed to resolve herself.

“It’s about Meagan.”

 

* * *

 

 

With Emily exhausted from her trip through Stilton’s house and Meagan recovering from her collapse, it was decided that they would take the next few days to rest and, in Corvo and Daud’s case, do further research into whatever ritual Delilah had used to make herself immortal. Emily had seen effigies at the Royal Conservatory, but the effigies used to control the Sisters of the Oracular Order were, by her description, quite different from what Ashworth had created to safeguard Delilah’s spirit. The thought that Delilah had quite literally been soulless when Corvo had fought her at Dunwall Tower was at once a consolation and a damning prophesy. If Pathmaker could not still her heart while her body and spirit remained separate, then what were they to do?

Aramis stayed with them for a few days, but eventually he expressed a wish to return ‘home’ — well though he knew that what remained of his house could hardly be called a home. But then, it was more than the cell he had left behind at the asylum; and a cell one had to name it. The institution Luca had had him locked away in wasn’t a prison as such, but an inmate he had been. He’d had no contact with anyone but the other patients, doctors, and guards; and only most of them had been sane to begin with.

“I kept myself sound by writing,” he told them. “They didn’t believe me when I told them who I was, or that the Duke had made me disappear, but they did let me have notebooks and pencils, as many as I liked. I think they were glad that, as long as I could write, I didn’t bother them. There were times I wasn’t sure I wasn’t mad, or inventing stories that had never happened. There were days I wasn’t sure whether I really was Aramis Stilton, and there were days I doubted that Theodanis truly loved me. But I wrote it down — my life, my work, everything I knew, everything I could remember. Luca took my livelihood from me, my freedom, but he wouldn’t take my memories. I wrote it all down, and even when they put me in isolation on Luca’s orders, they let me write. I was lucky,” he concluded, and Corvo was surprised to find he meant it. “They didn’t beat me, they didn’t drug me... I’m not the man I was, but neither am I a shadow of myself. And now… all I want, is to go home.”

“Luca will know by now that you’re gone,” Daud told him. “And he won’t be stupid enough not to assume that it was someone other than us who helped you escape. You can’t go home, not yet.“

“Not to mention the Void still leaking inside,” Emily interjected. “We ought to look into repairing the tear, even though at present I have no idea of how we’d go about it. But there is somewhere you might stay. Sokolov.”

“The old codger?” Meagan snorted from the other end of the table.

“Sokolov’s of no more use, or interest, to Delilah,” Emily argued. “And Luca won’t think to look for Aramis in Aventa.”

“That’s a gamble,” Daud objected.

“It’s at least an alternative to staying here and waiting,” Emily insisted, and Daud raised a placating hand.

“It’s your choice, Aramis,” Corvo said. “But at least it is one. As for Luca, if anything, he’ll be looking to come down on the Howlers for helping us.”

“All the more reason to finally seal the deal with Paolo and Byrne,” Meagan reminded them.

“I’ve been thinking of sending them an invitation,” Emily agreed.

“They’re not going to cross into each other’s territory, just in case one of them cries wolf,” Daud said. “And the Grand Guard is waiting right outside Batista Overlook. This might be what finally makes Luca order them to seal it off.”

“That’s true,” Emily conceded, “but there is a strip of neutral territory, just wide enough for both Byrne and Paolo’s egos.”

“And where would you have them meet,” Daud questioned, “Blanchard’s apartment?”

Emily shook her head, smiling slightly. “No place so obvious.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, Corvo watched from an apartment overhead as Byrne and two of his Overseers cautiously approached the checkpoint the Abbey had set up to the South end of the street. Emily had wisely suggested this place: while less accessible than the other neutral area around the black market shop, a meeting here posed less of a risk to civilians. Admittedly, the two accountants who lived here together had had quite the fright when Corvo had let himself in over the balcony, but they’d been amenable enough after he’d explained that he was an acquaintance of Paolo’s, and not here to harm them. After exchanging a look, one of them had gone so far as to offer him a cup of tea, which he’d declined, amusement well hidden, with a gesture at his mask.

“Best if I keep it on,” he’d explained to her, somewhat surprised at his own capacity for simple courtesy. Then again, it had been a while since someone had simply offered him some tea; and certainly not after finding him crouched in their open balcony doors, looking more like the fractured face of death than a man.

Emily was waiting inside the neutral zone, on the Overseer side, while Daud had gone to escort Paolo and Blanchard from the Crone’s Hand; and how she had convinced Modotti to give her the key to their silvergraph studio and clear out for a day or two, Corvo suspected he might never know.

“Vice Overseer,” her voice carried up to where Corvo was watching.

“Empress,” Byrne greeted her. It seemed, then, that he had made his choice.

Corvo’s attention was called away by a tug at his connection to the Void, and so he blinked away, across the broken canopy, the startled gasps of his hosts fading in his wake. He appeared just in time to see Daud walk up beside Paolo; Mindy at Paolo’s other shoulder. Corvo wondered if Daud and the Howlers might have come to an agreement, had he stayed in Karnaca, or returned here instead of Dunwall after receiving the Outsider’s Mark; or whether Paolo would have been the first to feel the cold bite of deadly competition.

Once both parties were inside the silvergraph studio, Corvo was the last to blink down — he held the key. The last to enter, he locked the door and took up his position guarding it. Daud had taken up station outside, out of sight. They had taken great care not to let Byrne know he was of their party, same as his presence in Dunwall remained a secret from Yul. The studio’s sales room was tiny, forcing everyone into tight quarters: a risk, but an insurance policy as well. Within this small a space, any bullet would be slower than a blade to the gut before anyone had finished their draw; and if this went sideways, no party would be able to call for back-up. Corvo had been intrigued when he first realised the Howlers did not carry pistols, only their blades. He supposed it was the Howler spirit, to get in close and face their enemies head-on, rather than hiding behind cover — but more than that, bullets were expensive. In Dunwall, apart from the Hatters, who could afford to skim off the shipments they smuggled, gangs did not wield pistols, either. The Bottle Street Gang had their fire whiskey (which Slackjaw had offered, several times, to teach him how to use), and the Dead Eels tended to rely on choke-dust to incapacitate their opponents before skewering them with their harpoons. It was just more fun that way, Lizzy Stride had once confided in him — loudly enough that the rest of the Undine could hear it, too.

Corvo had felt mildly nauseous when Emily had suggested locking herself in here with them. If Paolo and Byrne decided to double-cross _her_ , there was precious little room to get her to safety. Corvo felt odd comfort in knowing that the power of the Void was just simmering underneath his skin, ready to be called at a moment’s notice to bend time and let fire and brimstone rain down on those who would betray the Empress. But for the moment, Paolo and Byrne seemed much more perturbed by finding themselves in the same room, _chaperoned_ , by an Empress and her Protector. It was surreal, to say the least.

Emily, in a manner she had to have learnt from Callista, crossed her arms and looked between them, as though they were a pair of raucous children who’d caused trouble in the school room. The image of the Howlers and the Overseers playing tug-of-war for control over the Dust District was almost too amusing — and the dead count they’d racked up too high to make this into a joke.

“Vice Overseer,” Paolo drawled, shooting Emily an impatient glance, knowing exactly what she was waiting for. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Paolo,” Byrne returned, looking so much like he loathed being here, but loathed being impotent more — and that was what Luca’s banishment of the Abbey from the Grand Palace had rendered them.

“I know it’ll pain you to take down the wanted posters of us you keep in your office,” Paolo said with a gesture at Blanchard, who smirked. “But it’s for the best, really.”

“I wonder if it won’t pain you more not to capture and torture more of my men by infecting them with the fever,” Byrne shot back. This, they had expected: the airing of grievances.

“Of course you would never keep any Howler in a tiny cell, for days, without food or drink.” Paolo did not miss a trick, but the accusation was spoken with an air of finality. “And from now on, if you do, you’ll have the wrath of the Empire coming down on you.”

Byrne scoffed. “Are you hiding behind your _Empress_?“

“Not _my_ Empress — no offence, Your Majesty — but the one who _will_ take it all away if we don’t play nice. You’re here. You know she can.”

“Are you afraid?” Byrne asked, incredulous.

“I know she’s our best bet in getting out from under the Duke’s reign. And if we’re not with her, we’re against her. You’re an ambitious man, Vice Overseer. You’d rather have a seat on the council than be exiled, would you not? Permanently.”

“You have the stench of the Void on you,” the Overseer standing at Byrne’s shoulder suddenly accused. “You reek of the forbidden craft.”

“Wearing bonecharms does not an apostate make, Brother,” Paolo answered calmly — mockingly. “You should know that, considering the Abbey likely snatched you young for collecting them.”

“How dare you,“ the Overseer growled, but Byrne held up a hand.

“Some of us go through the Trials, others do not,” he said, “but each Overseer, once inducted, is a brother of the faith. In the Order, we are one.”

“Just not without seeing their parents beaten and murdered first,” Paolo delivered, still calmly, but with a snarl curling his upper lip. “You execute people in the _street_ for their so-called crimes.”

By the door, Corvo tensed, and he could sense Emily shifting as well, as wary as he was that this could break the truce before it had even begun. But Corvo could not bring himself to intervene. He was no friend of the Abbey, and neither was Daud, for what it had accomplished in the ostracisation of his family. Emily had grown up with a kind protector and teacher in Yul Khulan, but she had questioned, during lessons with her tutors, the practices of the Order in bolstering its ranks. ‘Ours is the way it’s done,’ had never satisfied her as an answer, but there were things even the Empress could not change. Jessamine had tried, during her reign, to curb the violence exerted by the Overseers, but a young ruler could not afford to question the Abbey on its handling of heretics and apostates guilty of worshipping the Outsider — and guilty they were, of course, all of them. The Abbey in Dunwall had not yet existed long; but barely two centuries after its construction, its grip on those it deemed under its ‘care’ was that of a vice. One murmur, one whisper, from the Office of the High Overseer had been enough to spell the end of Yefim Olaskir’s reign a mere three years after the Abbey’s appointment as religion of the state. Campbell’s jibes and snide attacks in polite company had certainly done their part to sway Dunwall’s aristocracy against Jessamine; and Burrows had, of course, done too little to prevent it.

“The Abbey’s teachings are absolute, as are the prophecies handed down to us by the Oracular Sisters,” Byrne now lectured, and Corvo saw Emily draw breath to speak, but then Byrne continued: “However, we will abide by any agreements made with the Palace, once the Coup is resolved. This includes prosecuting heretics with more… discretion.”

Now, just as Corvo’s stomach turned, Emily seemed to have enough.

“If by ‘discretion,’ you mean abduction and torture,” she interrupted, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. We have heretic cells in Coldridge, as do all prisons across the Isles. Heretics accused of blood magic will receive a trial, and if your _witnesses_ cannot be relied upon to make trustworthy statements, the suspects will be acquitted.”

“Are those your demands, Empress?” Byrne asked, a challenge in his voice.

“Those are the terms of this bargain, Vice Overseer,” she corrected him, managing to project absolute confidence; but she knew as well as Corvo that, if this deal, right now, fell through, the Overseers and the Howlers would go back to more or less open warfare — or become worse than ever, until it fell to the next leader of Serkonos to pry them off each other’s throats. Unless, of course, Emily found a way of dealing with them… carefully. “So, what will it be?”

Paolo and Byrne exchanged baleful looks.

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to the docks, Meagan was waiting for them by the skiff — in the company of a young man who looked vaguely familiar. Corvo and the others approached, and the youngster grinned at him.

“Long time no see, sir!“ he greeted Corvo. The voice finally tipped him off.

“Ternion?”

“In the flesh, sir.”

“It’s been a long time, indeed,” Corvo said and offered him his hand. “But I hope you’ve been satisfied with your compensation for any assistance you’ve rendered us in recent years?”

Ternion laughed, and if he was surprised to find a Lord willing to shake his hand, he didn’t show it.

“Never had a more generous man to run letters for,” he replied, “one of many reasons I pray you’ll remain in good health for many years.”

Ah, Corvo thought, there was the cheeky lad he remembered. Meagan, evidently impatient, interrupted their reminiscing.

“Ternion brought news,” she told them, looking at Emily over Corvo’s shoulder. “From Dunwall.”

Corvo stretched out his hand again for a letter, but Ternion shook his head.

“They refused to put it down in writing, sir, lest I get caught sneaking back to the docks in Dunwall,“ he explained, his manner abruptly serious. “I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back and what they made me repeat until it came out my ears.”

“What is it, then?” Emily asked impatiently as she stepped up beside Corvo. Daud crowded against him on his other side, sharing her urgency.

Ternion took a deep breath.

“Half the men remain without their gifts. A resistance has been formed, reaching from the tip of Morley down to Dunwall, ready to go to war if the true Empress gives the order. The High Overseer attempted an assault on Dunwall Tower, but retreated when the witches brought the metal men. He is wounded, but he lives. In Dunwall, there’s an enclave where citizens are safe, guarded at all points as though in quarantine.” He paused, his eyes flickering again to Emily.

“Go on,” she urged him.

“One has been taken,“ he reluctantly continued. “The nightingale ventured too close to the fire, but it is certain she still lives.”

Without warning, Emily’s hand clamped down on Corvo’s arm, her fingers digging to his sleeve. It took him a moment to follow the thought, but then it was clear. Thomas must have chosen the moniker, knowing Emily would understand.

“What else?” Emily demanded. “ _Anything_.”

“That is all I know, Your Majesty,” Ternion said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Paolo and Byrne: kids in a playground.  
> b) Corvo and Daud: Super Adorable Tragic Husbands.  
> c) Emily: can never catch a break.  
> d) Meagan: shit fuck goddamn I accidentally made a friend.  
> e) me: how is this the third act already  
> f) and then it occurs to me that I started writing this story in _June_


	21. Chapter Eighteen — Locked Into Your Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And still, she felt a fool for wanting a killer’s forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo! In this chapter, the mystery of the nightingale is lifted, Meagan gets to be grumpy for an entire day, and I'm starting my Super Subtle Foreshadowing, for... stuff.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Bury, by Unions](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94dTf36Nb8I&index=84&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

That night, Meagan woke with a start and a curse, bit back by gritted teeth. She sat upright on her cot, trying to catch her breath, trying to make sense of the images still burning behind her eyelids. Dogs as tall as guardsmen, chasing her, a trail of blood behind her. Her head split open with heat, the searing pain unbearable. Reflexively, she raised her arm, put a hand up to her face. Her right hand. It felt numb when in her dream she remembered only agony. She wrung her hands together, massaging the right with her left until it finally hurt.

“What in the Void,“ she muttered to herself. “Must be because of what Emily told me.”

Somewhere, in another time, another version of her had gone through exactly this pain; and for three years, she’d been blissfully unaware. But Emily had rewritten time already lived, and perhaps this had delayed the change in her dreams. Meagan hadn’t expected knowing to give her nightmares, but perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. What did surprise her, however, was the sheer reality of the hurt. She’d had nightmares all her life, bad dreams filled with battles remembered and invented. Often enough she’d dreamt of torture inflicted at the hands of the Overseers, dreamt of the Music scorching her insides and filling her up with knives. Not all of them had been true, but enough — enough to know that this intensity was strange. For all that she knew it wasn’t real, she felt drenched in blood, as if it was still clinging to her skin, cloying and thick.

She hadn’t had blood on her hands in a long time.

And still, she felt a fool for wanting a killer’s forgiveness.

Meagan roused herself to check the alarm clock on the tiny table next to the cot, watch face illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the large bridge windows: she’d barely slept three hours, and it was too early to make her way downstairs either for coffee or for a cigar. Doomed, then, to lying back down and waiting for the pain to lessen, she sought to wonder if this was destined to be a more regular occurrence or merely her mind contending with what Emily had revealed to her. It was difficult to tell apart: the knowing that time had been changed, and the feeling of it, as though something wasn’t quite right. The same as some days it wasn’t the waking that was impossible, but the rising. Most days she made a point to simply fall out of bed and down the stairs, trusting sheer momentum to get her through the day. It was certainly easier with the boat filled with people rather than cargo. Alone, out on the Ocean, there were only ports to call you any which way. Meagan never set out without a delivery to make — perhaps for fear that, otherwise, she would drift forever.

It had been so long since she’d shared quarters, shared anything, with others. Had anyone told her months ago that she would one day be relieved to be herding half a dozen others through the galley of her ship if it just meant they were safe, she’d have told them that they were thinking of a different person. And perhaps they would’ve been. Meagan had little doubt that her collapse a week ago had everything to do with Emily tinkering with things she shouldn’t have been touching — the moment she’d returned to a world without the Timepiece, most likely, the moment the changes had been set in stone, set in blood and bone. Meagan could not recall a time that hadn’t been this, but some part of her seemed to remember more than she knew.

*

Later that day, she found herself following one of Emily’s requests, put to her after the return from Aventa. Emily had asked her to travel to Upper Cyria — something she and Corvo had heard in Jindosh’s house had piqued her interest. Meagan’s warning that their ‘adventure’ did not make them friends had evidently done nothing to discourage the young Empress from giving her missions, now, Meagan thought sardonically. But then, Emily had been badly shaken by the news they’d received from Dunwall after their latest journey to Batista. Meagan had needed some of it translated, but the moment she’d understood that the ‘nightingale’ was Alexi Mayhew, Captain of the Tower Guard and, according to Daud, Emily and Wyman’s partner in all things, she would have gone to the Grand Palace itself and burnt the place down, rats and guards and all, if just to put an expression on Emily’s face that wasn’t unveiled despair.

Emily had only allowed herself the weakness for a few seconds before pulling herself together, becoming the Empress with a face of stone that she likely believed her citizens needed her to be; and then she’d thanked Ternion for his loyalty. The boy, looking stricken, had bowed, seemingly for the first time in his life, and offered what ever more help he might be able to lend. But Emily had shaken her head, and told him to keep his head down from now on. Whatever state Emily’s allies in Dunwall were in, they were in danger, and so now was Ternion.

On the way back to the Dreadful Wale, Corvo and Daud had done their best to comfort Emily with murmured words alone, while Meagan had listened and silently promised to skewer the first witch she saw, and if it be Delilah.

And now, while Emily, Corvo, and Daud were preparing to infiltrate the Grand Palace, Meagan was trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in one of the richest districts of the city. Upper Cyria seemed untouched by the turmoil lingering in Karnaca — so much unlike Drapers Ward, which had been one of the first districts to fall apart after the advent of the Plague in Dunwall. In Cyria, the windows of shops and apartments were spotless, the pavement gleamed, and billboards and advertisements weren’t peeling off the sides of buildings. This, to Meagan, felt more eerie and out of place than seeing the disrepair and decay of the Dust District, or Addermire. The Palace District, so the rumours — and the newspapers — had it, had been subject to revolt, with the Howlers and the Grand Guard in a tense stand-off at the edges of Ravina Boulevard. But the real damage had been done by the Grand Guard looting and ‘requisitioning’ entire apartment buildings in an effort to secure the passage towards the ducal palace, booting out the tenants and killing anyone who dared disobey their orders; and Luca, of course, let them do as they pleased.

How, then, was Upper Cyria still intact? This was what Emily had sent her to find out, hoping, in part, for something — or someone — that even Luca, in all his state, hesitated to make an enemy of. Little was known about the Eyeless, as this new gang called itself, apart from their predilection for Plagued Spirit and the speed with which they’d established themselves, especially in a well-off quarter. Everything about this told Meagan that those who led it had friends in high places. Criminals who preyed on the poor, not the rich, were so much more easily tolerated.

She moved through the streets, wisely staying out of the way of guards and their hounds but otherwise undisturbed. She was aware enough, however, of the glances thrown her way by residents, all of whom certainly believed that it would be better for all involved if the _rabble_ were kept away from their fancy shops and cafés. These were people who would look down on even Corvo: for a Lord he was, but a common born at that. It was that which they’d never forgive, no matter that he was their countryman, no matter his ascent to one of the most powerful men in the Empire. But then, he’d never sought to truly wield that power — not the way he _could_ , the way his morals forbade him.

At the end of Duchess Lisandra Avenue, Meagan stopped to look at some of the announcement posters. Shan Yun, the famous singer, had recently settled in Karnaca, and was now looking to fill concert halls and operas. His songs were everywhere, albeit not always his own compositions: some of his recordings were abridged versions of popular lyrics performed by street musicians on corners and avenues.

Meagan was about to turn away when some _flickering_ caught her eye, something strange; as though one of the posters had moved, revealing a different one underneath. But when she turned her head, everything was, of course, in order. It must have been a trick of the light. She moved on, taking a few steps up towards Raqueza Avenue. The Spector Club could be found at one end, the Dolores Michaels Deposits and Loan bank, one of the largest financial institutions in Karnaca, on the other. Who knew, perhaps after the fall of the house of Boyle, Emily could be persuaded by Michaels and Associates to conduct the Crown’s business through them.

Today, Meagan would not engage, simply watch, but what she was seeing was already enough to give her a healthy dislike of these people. They seemed fat and complacent, their apathy only compounded by their greed. The rest of the city was falling to pieces, and all they cared about was to see and be seen, to catch a lucky glimpse of Shan Yun in his obnoxiously large mansion — right across the street from the club, which could hardly be a coincidence. Meagan wandered a little closer and found that there was still construction going on: a skyway, leading from Yun's house straight into the top floor of the Spector. Curiouser and curiouser.

She noticed a burly man on the front steps of the Spector giving her the stink eye. Time to move on, then.

*

She’d spent nearly half the day in Upper Cyria, running recon and talking to anyone who didn’t look like they had a broomstick up their ass; of whom there had been surprisingly many. Then again, a district running as smoothly as that one needed half an army of lowly workers to keep everything in order. Meagan had had an easier time blending in with them, seeing as those who actually worked for their money — construction workers, deck hands, maids, and servants — were supposed to be invisible to begin with. And if they weren’t, they were simply treated as such.

Meagan took the skiff back to the Wale, and used the grapple hook to kick loose the cable winches. On her way up, she noticed Emily was once again sitting at the bough, looking out over the water. She hauled herself over the railing, secured the skiff, and started walking towards her.

“Just the woman I wanted to see,” she called, watching as Emily whirled around in surprise. She must not have heard her coming — but out here on the water, everything was quiet, and the deck was empty of anyone she could’ve been so deep in conversation with as to forget her surroundings. Meagan walked closer, intending on calling her on her carelessness, even out here, when her gaze dropped to Emily’s hands, and what she was holding. She stopped a few yards away.

“Meagan—”

“What _the fuck_ is this?” she blurted out. What Emily was holding — it couldn’t be. And yet, it was, clear as day. A human heart. And it was _beating_.

_Hello, Meagan._

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) me, every time I use the word hollow from now on: nihihihihihi  
> b) Alexi's nightingale codename can be traced back to the costume she wore at the Boyle Masquerade Ball in _The Letters_.  
>  c) by super subtle foreshadowing I mean I'm trying my best to integrate the plots of DH2 and DotO, aiming for it to be A LITTLE BIT less of a mess. maybe.  
> d) that rather tips you off as to the subject matter of part 6, don't it


	22. Chapter Nineteen — And Your Pleasures Are the Seal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was perhaps fitting that time, and fate, had caught up with them today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been... a week. Posting Chapter 18 seems ages away, but here we are only a few days later, with one more step towards Emily's last target in Karnaca.
> 
> Coincidentally, I completed the full draft of this last weekend, so now all that's left is editing — and starting work on Part 6 ;)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Lost It All, by Jill Andrews](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lS2cMS23ax0&index=85&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

Nearly two weeks had passed since Emily had broken into the ruins of Aramis Stilton’s home to try and understand how Delilah had made herself immortal, how she had raised herself from the Void after twelve years of banishment — after what should have been forever. Emily had been cryptic about what she’d found in the Dust District, which was fine with Daud: he did not need the gruesome details. All he wanted to know was how to kill the witch.

Apparently, the way to accomplishing this led by the Grand Palace, in twofold ways. For one, Duke Luca Abele was their final target in Karnaca — after deposing him, they were free to return to Dunwall, and end this coup once and for all. There was no doubt in their minds that Luca had to be dethroned, dead or alive, for Karnaca to be saved. If they left for Dunwall under the cover of night to pull the rug out from under Luca by defeating Delilah, he was likely to simply take Serkonos hostage; and Daud and Corvo refused to let Emily go back to Gristol on her own. Daud would admit to, sometimes, wishing that they could. Dunwall had taken so much from them, from Corvo. Even knowing that they would never see eye to eye on the circumstances of Corvo’s ‘secondment’ to the Emperor’s guard, he wanted to tell Corvo that he owed these people _nothing_. For having to live a life in the bright lights of Court rather than the shadows, as Daud had afforded himself, and for how they’d used him up and yet never appreciated a single thing he’d done to protect them. The plaque Theodanis Abele had had installed outside of the building Corvo’s family had lived so long ago — where his sister had decided to flee and his mother had died so soon after losing her son to the Ocean and a city far away, to the machinations of a monarch who may have been benevolent but still a politician at heart — spoke of pride in Corvo Attano, son of Karnaca. But Corvo had never been an ambassador, sent to represent the people of Serkonos; instead, he had been a quick sword and fighting spirit ready to be exploited. Still, Daud knew that voicing these thoughts to try and persuade Corvo not to see this through would be fruitless. He considered the people of Dunwall under his protection by virtue of being father to their Empress; and to a point, Daud couldn’t fault his logic. He himself had done inadvisable things for the simple fact that Emily would want him to, and so had he done them in her name, or the Empire’s? And he may as well remind himself that some called it love, some called it service. But then again, so many of them had no idea there was a war between the two.

As things stood, Luca was not the only reason for their staying in Karnaca long enough to see this through. There was another, equally important target that required entering the Palace: an artefact that Emily had told them contained the secret — and the cure, of sorts — to Delilah’s immortality. With its help, they would finally render Delilah as she was meant to be: marked, chosen by the Void, but in the end, tragically human. Daud contemplated this as he lay next to Corvo that morning, waiting for him to wake. It was still early, dawn barely broken, and they had all day to prepare to head out into the Palace District.

 _Daud_ , a voice startled him from his thoughts.

“Jessamine,” he whispered, raising himself to look over Corvo’s shoulder, whose coat was draped over the back of the chair by the tiny writing desk. Emily had handed over the Heart the evening before with little explanation, and Corvo had been too tired to ask any questions. His back against Daud’s chest, Corvo now stirred.

“Daud?” he mumbled, voice rough and awareness muddled with sleep.

 _Corvo_ , the Heart called to him as well, and there was urgency in her voice. Daud would later hardly remember who scrambled for a hem of the coat, and who nearly tipped over the chair in an effort to raise the Heart between them to listen.

 _You have to understand_ , Jessamine began, _and I would have you listen, and listen well. This is my last night, I can feel it. It is as it must be, and I cannot regret not telling you earlier. It was my wish to make easier our farewells, and so this must be it_. _I’m sorry._

For a moment, neither Daud nor Corvo knew what to say — until they exchanged a glance, and then a nod.

They’d known this moment was coming, each of them, even if they hadn’t yet spoken of it. It was perhaps fitting that time, and fate, had caught up with them today.

 

* * *

 

 

Up on deck, Meagan and Stilton were waiting for Corvo, Daud, and Emily, before their departure for the Palace District that evening. Under the cover of night, they would infiltrate, meet with Lucia Pastor and the Howlers, and make sure to hogtie the district guard. Aramis, at least, had had some interesting information for them or, rather, confirmation. It had been rumoured that the Duke had been employing a double for many years, to act as a decoy in the case of an assassination attempt. Aramis had now assured them that this was true. It was just like Luca to use someone else as a human shield — not a protector, not a bodyguard, not someone who knew the risks of such a position and accepted them. Void knew how Luca had conscripted the double into his services. As it was, he might be the key to their success, but Corvo was ever conscious of the possibility that death was the only fate fit for Theodanis’ ingrate offspring.

Just before they left, he took Emily aside and handed over the Heart.

“You’ll have more need of it than I,” he ventured, and something in Emily’s expression told him that his and Daud’s guesses based on what Jessamine had told them earlier were inching close enough to the truth. He did not begrudge her any want for secrecy — it was difficult enough as it was. She accepted the Heart, and before either of them could say anything, Meagan called for them from where she was talking towards the skiff.

“Come on, Empress, let’s go!”

Emily let out a quick huff of breath.

“She has her own interest in seeing Luca get his, I think,“ she murmured, and Corvo weighed his head. There was certainly no love lost between either Billie Lurk or Meagan Foster and the incumbent Duke of Serkonos.

For now, however, the score lay with Emily, Corvo — and Daud, whose face had since joined them in being displayed on wanted posters throughout the city.

 

* * *

 

 

In the streets, Meagan reported, Delilah had begun spreading propaganda that Daud and Corvo _together_ made up the Crown Killer. But she did not stop there, instead now using everything that Emily had expected would come to the fore much earlier. She claimed, now, that Corvo and Daud had been lovers since before the Rat Plague; that they had hatched the plan to kill Jessamine, and that the Plague and Burrows’ conspiracy had been merely a convenient cover story for their assassination of Delilah’s _beloved_ sister.

“She is rather closing the gate after the horse has already bolted, isn’t she?” Aramis remarked with a glance at Daud. Emily had no notion of what his reaction had been when none other than Daud and Corvo Attano had turned up to rescue him from where he’d been held for so long. At least he would have recognised Daud from before, but Corvo only from the papers. Introducing Daud to both Lucia Pastor and Stilton had been a gamble, Emily recalled. But in truth, neither of them had asked all that many questions — he’d carried papers from Dunwall Tower, bearing Emily’s seal, and the royal signet ring as proof that he worked for the Crown. The name of Daud had served to strike fear into the hearts of nobles across the Empire, but it appeared the fact was that, prior to his return from the Void, Daud had rarely ever left Dunwall, much less Gristol. The Knife of Dunwall had had enough to do in the capital, it seemed; and Daud would have considered ‘branching out’ foolish, no doubt. In the end, Lucia and Aramis had kept his secret, whether through ignorance or fear to rock the boat; and Emily hadn’t truly understood Corvo’s continuing anxiety about the match — and why he kept his worries a secret from Daud — until she’d learnt that, all these years, Meagan and Stilton had been friends as well.

Daud, in the meantime, shrugged.

“Delilah wanted my head, but when she couldn’t get me in Dunwall, I suppose she decided to keep my involvement a secret. Another ace up her sleeve,” he added, while securing his wrist bow and testing the mechanism by rotating and flicking his wrist; the way Emily had see him do a hundred times and never grew tired of. She still resented that Corvo and Daud had both insisted on giving her a crossbow rather than a wrist bow, saying it would mark her too obviously as a Whaler or, at the very least, an Empress keeping unsavoury company. She’d argued that she could carry it concealed in her sleeve, and Piero had barely waited for her to finish making her argument before jumping to the drawing board to sketch out a few ideas, but while Corvo might have been convinced eventually, Daud had held firm and had, eventually, won out. Not because Emily was any less stubborn than he was, but because he _worried_ , and that still served to give Emily a guilty conscience — some of the time. He had let her fall on her ass in training as often as she needed to learn the lessons proper, but he’d always taken anything to do with Court even more seriously than Corvo, perhaps because it made him feel out of his depth so much more than the Royal Protector of thirty-five years, and been all the more cautious for it.

As it was now, he was likely right. Unduly revealing the ‘return’ of the Knife of Dunwall would have called attention away from the glorious beginning of Delilah’s reign, if Emily had to guess. And it was true: according to Delilah, no-one should have the pleasure of cleaving Daud’s head from his shoulders but her. For what he’d done to her in casting them both into the Void, and for finding a way out of it so much sooner — for having _help_. Emily did not doubt that Delilah would contrive to take her revenge on the Outsider as well. If she hadn’t already.

And now, there were whispers of a truce in the Dust District, of Howlers and Overseers no longer murdering each other in the streets. Open warfare had ceased, and instead Paolo had begun calls for ‘a change in management,’ while Byrne had let reports trickle through that he was reevaluating his efforts in Batista, and would instead focus on different districts to expand the Abbey’s reach in Karnaca — direct pushback against the Duke. After his banishment from the Palace, Byrne had never openly criticised Luca; his days admonishing a grown man to drink less, sleep more, and give a damn about the people who depended on his leadership over, he’d told Emily. Now, calling for better treatment of mine workers, Byrne had startled at least some of Serkonos’ nobility out of their traditional languor, and Emily couldn’t wait for the day that Aramis Stilton publicly announced his return to his home. It would have to wait until everything in Dunwall had been set right, to protect both Stilton and Pastor from reprisals from Abele loyalists, but it would come soon enough. And who knew… perhaps, if Luca’s double could be _reasoned_ with…

Daud had looked at her as though she were insane when she had first hinted at the idea, but she had an inkling that it wouldn’t take at all too much time for him to come around to her way of thinking. It would not be enough to depose Luca: Serkonos needed a new ruler. With the Palace empty after an assassination, they would end up with precisely what they’d been looking to avoid by keeping both Paolo and Byrne in the Dust District, working together, rather than leaving both the Howlers and the Abbey headless. A vacuum, in this situation, opened the door for every power-hungry noble with even a distant relation to the Abeles — or any other noble house — to scurry towards the bay. An empty seat invited a regency, Emily knew only too well. She barely trusted Paolo and Byrne enough to keep the peace; and if a regency were to come to pass, Dunwall would not have a hand in its choosing. This was a matter the state dealt with alone, without interference from the capital. The War of the Four Crowns had ended with Gristol the winner, but that had never entailed absolute control.

Emily sighed. So often over the past few months, she’d heard people in the streets reminisce how good it had been under the old Duke, and equally she’d heard others deride them for it. There was at least one truth in ii: looking back, now, served no-one.

 

* * *

 

 

The Palace District measured up to expectations — in its current state of chaos. The reports of looting and the Grand Guard turning over anything that wasn’t nailed down and taking whatever they wanted for themselves had not been exaggerated. The path inside the district was littered with broken furniture — tossed out of second-story windows, from the look of one set of dressers that Emily clambered over while Daud and Corvo took the scenic route over vents and balconies. They would precede Emily to Pastor’s apartment and then signal to her that it was safe to come inside. Not that they did not trust Pastor herself, but she had been in the district for a few days now, waiting and trying to stay out of sight of the guards. She was high up on Luca’s list of political opponents who had both the connections and the guts to come after him with blades unsheathed, and the Guard was just as likely to abduct her as to use her as bait, at this point — depending less on the intellect and more on the ambition of whoever officer hatched the plan.

After a few minutes, Corvo and Daud deemed it safe for her to venture inside. Waiting for a Grand Guard officer to pass, muttering to herself about missing dinner — and the kids, apparently, but mostly dinner — Emily reached up onto the balcony below Pastor’s floor, and then up and inside.

“Mrs Pastor,” Emily greeted the woman who was still looking between Corvo, Daud, and now her; eyes wide. They had, after all, just dropped in from the sky.

“I won’t ask how you can do that,” Pastor replied, her tone brisk and resolute, very much as Emily had come to expect from everyone’s descriptions of her. “And considering who you are, I don’t know if I should be flattered that you know my name, or yell at you for propping up the Duke for _years_ while he let Serkonos come to this,“ Pastor gestured angrily at what lay beyond her balcony doors.

Outside, the watchtower the Grand Guard had installed whirred and groaned as it turned. Emily removed her mask.

“And who do you think I am?“ she asked. A challenge, as she revealed herself for who she was.

Pastor was not fazed.

“I don’t know you,” she said, “and I doubt anyone does but these two.” She nodded at Corvo and Daud, watching from the other side of the room. “Whether the newspapers and the posters in the street are right or wrong, I _hope_ that you are here to end Luca Abele’s tyranny. But we haven’t been sitting around waiting for you to clean up your mess. We’re ready. We can protect the miners and their families, but _you_ need to do something for us first. I’ve always believed that Luca would fall, eventually. And now, you can help us. Bring him down, and the people of Karnaca will step up.”

“You have a plan?” Emily asked.

“Nothing absolutely solid. But just remember, when you get to the Palace: not everyone there is your enemy. Trust your judgement.” Pastor moved over to her desk, rifling through a few notes and letters. “I haven’t been back here in months, and often longer before that. My mother wanted so badly for me to come home, after…“ she trailed off.

Emily suddenly recalled one of the notes she’d found at Addermire. Of course. The baby.

“But my home is with the miners and their families now,” Pastor continued. “After my husband’s death, they took me in, when my own family still railed at me for falling in love below my station.”

Emily lowered her gaze for a moment. She’d never known how her grandfather had felt about her mother and Corvo… how he would’ve felt about all this; about Daud now standing shoulder to shoulder with the man still serving as Royal Protector, drawing a comforting hand down his shoulder when he thought nobody was looking.

“I come from money, but I’ve never wanted it,” Pastor now turned to look at Emily. “How about you, Empress?”

“The money in the treasury is not mine,” Emily answered swiftly. Any industrialist on her council would have accused Abigail Ames of putting these thoughts into her young head, but it had in fact been something Emily had been taught by her mother, first. “It belongs to the people of the Empire. I — and the Treasury — are merely the custodians, and it is our duty to make sure that the Crown’s wealth is used to improve the lives of many, not the few.”

Pastor seemed impressed, despite herself, but still looked at her critically.

“Those are pretty words from an educated mouth. But do you believe them?”

“My mother taught me that the crown is a burden, and that those who bear it must understand the responsibility that comes with it before they can earn the respect of their people,” Emily replied. “I trust in her wisdom as though it were my own.” The words did not pass from her tongue easily. She had made the same mistakes her mother had, in the past: she had trusted the wrong people, and she’d allowed herself to be swindled out of her crown. Equally, she had done things her mother never would have raised her hand to do — she’d killed to have it back, and now she was proposing to stake a gamble on the ambition of one man, rather than the steel of her blade, to make up for it.

“That’s not a luxury everyone has,” Pastor said, her voice coloured by equal parts bitterness and insolence.

“Nor’s losing one’s mother at ten years old,” Emily reminded her, her own tone sharper now. “I learnt those lessons young, but I haven’t forgotten them.“

Pastor did seem chastised now, and averted her gaze.

“I am sorry,” she said. “You’ve been Empress for so long… sometimes I forget how young you truly are.”

“It is the prerogative of my citizens to forget that I am human,” Emily returned, “with wants and feelings of my own; but I am. Someone I love has been captured by Delilah, and I have no way of knowing what danger they are in, or what’s already been done to them.“ A part of her was surprised at her own confession, but she had not truly allowed herself to _think_ about Alexi all this time, save for when she lay awake at night and tried to hold back tears even as they seeped into her pillow. It just never stopped — one crisis weathered, the next approached. More than after Jindosh, more than after Ashworth, Emily wondered now if any of this could ever have been truly worth it. What was her throne, to her, to Wyman, if it cost them Alexi? Alexi would say that it was worth the wounds, and Emily would give anything, at night, just to hold her in her arms and to kiss her simply to stop her from saying such things aloud, knowing that stubborn, loyal, brave Alexi meant every single word. The girl on fire, some had called her after learning of her astounding feat the day of the Regenter Attack; and she was. She was Emily’s girl on fire, and now she was in the grasp of a witch who’d sworn to reduce everything Emily had ever loved to ash and dust.

Bringing herself out of her thoughts, Emily cleared her throat. She looked to Pastor once more, who regarded her with understanding now more than anything else.

“Tonight, I will bring down Duke Luca Abele, and steal from him what he’s been guarding for Delilah. And then, I will return to Dunwall to reclaim my throne, and my legacy. Will you help me?”

Pastor nodded, and held out her hand.

“You have my word.”

They shook on it.

*

A group of Howlers met them at the black market shop, tucked away in a side street across Ravina. A menacing-looking woman named Petronilla took stock of them, each in turn, before waving her hand at the others — or so Emily assumed, for she could not see them without her second sight. One after the other, more Howlers emerged from the shadows and broken balconies.

“So you’re the Empress that’s going to set all this right, are you?” one of them asked.

“I’ll do my best,” she returned, little concerned with their impression of her and more with whether they were going to try and follow her to her real objective in this part of the district. There were rumours of something hidden in one of the caves, built into the rock my water or time or man; whispers of things that gave men visions, made them poets, had them compose odes to the terrifying moon.

But they had come to speak to the Howlers first, who very graciously told the proprietor of the black market shop to give her a generous discount — at whose expense, they wouldn’t say, but Emily suspected it was not Paolo’s cut that would suffer. Still, the erstwhile merchant commented on her purchases with aplomb and goodwill, remarking that she was well armed to the teeth, going out like that. He fell silent when Daud sent him a quelling look over Emily’s shoulder, and she smirked.

Their business thus concluded, they left the shop and the Howlers, taking a detour through Ravina Boulevard rather than clambering up the cliffside directly. On the way, they eavesdropped on a guardsman threatening a shopkeep. This, too, was nothing out of the ordinary, but some of their conversation, one-sided though it was, caught Emily’s attention. The shopkeeper had an apartment just by the Wall of Light and checkpoint, and the Guard had seized it for ‘security reasons.’ They had to move on before she could hear the rest, but if she wanted to avoid setting off the guards by the checkpoint by disabling the Wall of Light itself, or the carriage rails leading through above, slipping in and out of an empty apartment might just do the trick.

Her musings were interrupted when the Heart suddenly began beating near frantically against her chest. They had wound up outside of the cave and, without waiting for anyone’s permission, she broke the wooden panels blocking the entrance with her sword. She and Daud ventured inside first, Corvo reluctantly bringing up the rear. Someone had obviously hidden out here for a while, judging by the sleeping pallet in the corner and scattered personal belongings. Whoever ‘lived’ here hadn’t returned in a while, however, according to the rotting food still sitting in a small cooking pot.

The shrine sat undisturbed, but curiously there was no dust coating the wood or the runes, contrary to the rest of the room; quite as though they existed out of time. Emily reached for them, reality broke apart, and from the debris, the Outsider emerged, his silhouette even more erratic than usual, Void flickering around him like shards of iron.

 _Corvo_ , the Outsider addressed her father first. _You're back at the heart of your homeland. A bigger, better palace than the one you sailed away from so long ago. Feeling nostalgic? Will you ever be comfortable in Dunwall again, assuming you make it back? You've seen the suffering here, the decay. But you, dear Daud, would you even have lifted a finger if the Duke hadn't put Emily in harm's way? Be honest now._

Neither Corvo nor Daud dignified the question with an answer. Unfazed, the Outsider turned to her.

_Here you are back among your own people, the palace-born and those who curry their favour. Are you feeling more comfortable, Majesty? Are these the people you want running a quarter of your Empire? No? It never seemed to bother you before. Perhaps it looks different up close. Perhaps here it's harder to ignore the way the people outside the palace get through the day._

Emily did not imagine the Outsider knew how to shrug. But it was what he said next that threw her.

 _You have to give Delilah credit. She tore out a piece of herself and hid it away, inside a thing made of bones. She's made herself immortal. If you want to kill Delilah, you're going to have to find her spirit and give it back to her. Reaching it won't be easy, but what comes after that might be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do._ He tilted his head and regarded her for a moment, perhaps to see if she was catching on. _The Heart you carry can only hold one spirit at a time, so if you want to walk out with a piece of Delilah, there is a lesson you must learn, Empress, same as your father once did: if you want to take something from the Void, you had better be ready to leave something behind._

“What do you mean?” Emily demanded, but dreaded that she knew the answer already.

The Outsider cast her a look that told her as much.

 _She was never meant to last this long,_ he said, taken to pacing now. _I did not keep her in the Void after her first farewell, but something did; and I do not know if it was her own persistence or if the Void sensed a different purpose in her. But perhaps the time has come for your mother to move on._

Emily looked to Corvo and Daud, who seemed… far too calm.

“You knew,” she said quietly.

Corvo and Daud exchanged a glance.

“We said our goodbyes this morning,” Daud answered just as quietly, undoubtedly perturbed by the Outsider’s lingering presence, but not enough not to speak. He sent her an almost apologetic glance. “She knows.”

Emily was no fool — she had suspected something like this, and it was partly why she had told them only sparing details of what had happened in Stilton’s house; both regarding the ritual and as concerned Meagan. But to hear it confirmed, and to know her mother…

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was the only thing that came to mind.

Corvo stepped closer, and reached out to brush his thumb over her cheek.

“We are, as well,” he murmured. Then, he turned to the Outsider. “Let us go.”

The Outsider bowed in a mocking gesture of deference.

_As you wish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Hidden reference to another Leonard Cohen song: There Is a War.  
> b) FORESHADOWINGE  
> c) _SYMBOLISM_  
>  d) Daud being a feelsy idiot. He's having his internal Catwoman/Batman 'you don't owe these people anything' moment, and this reporter was live on the scene.  
> e) Thank you, Outsider, for all that lovely exposition.  
> f) And for letting me tweak tiny details that, I swear, some day, will make sense (and will get me murdered).  
> g) Also I got a big new tattoo this week and my arm is itching like mad; and that's what kept me awake enough to edit this today, so... yay?


	23. Chapter Twenty — The Age of Lust Is Giving Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half of it's luck. The other? Fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho ho holy shit, it's December 1st! Life's still insane — I didn't even get around to editing this chapter before today. I'm so looking forward to the holidays. BUT I started writing Part 6 last week, and oh man. It's been so long, and now this story is nearly done, and then it's the FINALE. OF THE WHOLE SERIES. My god.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Kings of Queens, by Diane Birch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCKhPH2jYQw&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=86).

Slipping past the Grand Guard, into the apartment, and out across the balcony, Emily overlooked Karnaca Bay. She’d left Corvo and Daud behind on the other side. They would keep the guards on their toes and see to it that no reinforcements could pass through the district _should_ something go wrong. Emily’s plan, as yet, was tentative, but she was intrigued by the idea of Luca having a body double. If he was convincing enough... but then, what to do with the original? Lock him up in the attic? There had to be a way. Lucia Pastor had been cryptic about what she knew, and how well she knew the double. But she hadn’t denied that there was someone at the Palace who factored into her plans. What did she mean when she said ‘the people of Karnaca will step up?’

Emily had heard of efforts to establish a council, after Theodanis’ death, a reform he himself had supported — perversely, perhaps, in anticipation of his own death and Luca’s ascension so the Serkonan throne. The council, so she had read in old issues of the Silver Spike, would be comprised of notable citizens and members of public office, but regular people as well; people with a vested interest in the welfare of their districts and communities. It sounded too good to be true, Emily thought cynically, but how much of that was realism, and how much her own instinct as a ruler and descendant of an imperial bloodline not to hand off power to anyone outside of her own circle?

The Kaldwins had been called weak rulers for their distance to the throne, she knew it well enough. Any deficiency in her reign had been and would be attributed to her family’s removed relationship to the Morgengaards and Olaskirs, and further than that to her own heritage. Where there had only been rumours when she was a girl, there was now certainty: Corvo Attano was her father and, in the eyes of the world, her mother had displayed a lack of judgement in choosing him to take to her bed — to love him and to remain faithful to him — that could have found cause only in her own tenuous connection to the royal line. Obviously.

If Karnaca truly were to invoke a council to keep its ruler in check, then Emily would finally be able to talk to _people_ , not trade commissions who only shilled for corporate interests and industrialists’ pocket books. Her own Parliament was a selection of Dunwall nobles who had their own interests at heart, not those of the people who worked in their mines, their factories. It was a flaw that Emily had been working to change, together with Abigail Ames, who still served on the Empress’ Council and showed no intention of ever giving in to any man’s disapproving glare; but Emily could not change Parliament’s seats without approval from, well, Parliament. It was a measure designed to prevent its dissolution by a power-hungry tyrant. But equally, it had served to cement Dunwall nobility’s hold on not merely Gristol’s legislature, but the Empire’s as well. Foreign policy was as much a matter of discussion as domestic affairs, and Emily could not step a foot out of line without being reminded by a guard of old men that she was yet young, and inexperienced, and so much like her mother in wanting the best for everyone without considering the _cost_. It was slow work, had been for the past fifteen years, and if it weren’t for the children she knew were starving in the streets of Dunwall and the slums of Cullero, Emily would’ve given up a long time ago; dragged Corvo, Daud, and the Whalers onto a ship and sailed to Pandyssia, for all she cared.

But here she was now, perched on top of an elaborate light balloon, watching guards patrol outside the ducal palace. It was an expensive monstrosity, all angles and gleaming sandstone. In an abandoned attic out in the city, Emily had found paintings of the old palace a few weeks ago: it had looked more like a mansion than a palace, and less like a castle than Dunwall Tower. Dunwall Tower had been rebuilt several times, and eventually come out designed as an easily defendable castle, a tightly packed square in the middle of the grounds. It hadn’t been called ‘White Hall’ in centuries. The seats of power all over the Empire were a strange reflection of their capitals: the Judges’ Chamber in Tyvia was an elaborate affair built from red brick, with several tall towers and pendentive dome roofs, and the King’s Palace in Morley looked more or less like a brick, all dark stone and severe corners. In some ways, it reminded her of Coldridge, which was an exceedingly singular structure even within the context of Dunwall’s more forbidding — and foreboding — architecture. Building it so close to Dunwall Tower had been a thing of practicality: to sentence the inciters of the rebellion and to pack them off to prison within the hour. Trials were rarely held at the Tower these days, instead Members of Parliament acted as judges and courts resided there, with envoys of the Crown acting as prosecutors. The system had changed vastly even over the past hundred years, and Emily had no doubt the time would come to adapt further.

As she drew closer, she could hear the voices of the guards below.

“Do you know who’s assigned to guard the Duke in his quarters tonight?”

“Nope,” answered the other, “long as it’s not me, I don’t care. He’s never any fun.”

“I’m not sure who’s worse, the Duke or the other guy. One’s likely to have you flogged for looking at him wrong, the other might just bore you to death.“

The other guy… that had to be the double. So if the real Luca Abele was in his quarters tonight, then his back-up had to be somewhere else about the grounds or the house itself. As the wind coming in from the bay stirred Emily’s hair, more softly than the harsh gusts of the Dust District or the stiff breeze out at Addermire, she breathed in the warm evening air. Out here, Karnaca truly was beautiful.

She reached across space again to land on the roof of the Palace. She would work her way around the outer perimeter and then move in. Daud and Corvo had scavenged floor plans from the offices of one of the architects who had worked on the Palace — six in total, all fired after a few months because of a lack of ‘artistic vision.’ They were not the most up to date, but the main layout of the grounds had not changed from first to last, so she had a decent idea of the gardens and the public areas. As usual, Luca was hosting a few dozen nobles that currently enjoyed his favour, but not all of them belonged to his inner circle. Those places of honour were limited to those who said yes to _everything_ he proposed, and they were the ones who received control over the mines and factories he seized from their owners, just has he’d done with Stilton’s mines after he’d made him disappear.

The grounds were not as vast as Emily had expected. The terraces and gardens were open to the public, as well as the pool. All Emily had heard of anyone having a pool indoors in Dunwall was the Golden Cat, she thought spitefully. She was certain some entertainment of that kind was conducted here as well. Out on one of the terraces, a gruesome diorama presented itself: two servants, used for target practice by the Duke’s high-born guests; who were currently sleeping off the whiskey and cider. Gritting her teeth, Emily reached closer and snuck up to the tables and armchairs that had been brought out here, set up reminiscent of court benches for the prosecution and defence. Only she feared no-one would’ve come to the aid of these servants as they were tortured and then killed for… stealing food. Disgusted, Emily put down the note she’d found. It was an open secret across the city that the Palace ordered a surplus of up to a ton of food every month, only for most of it to be thrown away before it started to rot — or sometimes well after. Emily’s nose wrinkled when she caught the sickly sweet smell of overly ripe and half-rotting Bastillian figs. There was nothing she could do for them now, and voices were coming up behind her. But as she took one last look at this degenerate tableau, she vowed that something like this would no longer plague the people of Karnaca after she left here tonight.

*

“What’s the point of having power if you can’t just _do_ whatever you want?”

Emily stopped in her tracks as she overheard these words, spoken in a snobbish tone by one of the ladies enjoying exotic fruits and, it seemed, diluted sleep dart toxin in one of the more… private chambers of the Palace. Upstairs, she’d found guards asleep, another set of four playing cards. Had to be nice to be on the Duke’s payroll, she thought. For a man paranoid and afraid enough of his enemies to hire a body double, Luca was remarkably unconcerned with the state of his security. Surely, he had to know that Aramis had been rescued from the asylum; and surely Delilah must have told him she had drawn Emily into the Void to dissuade her weeks ago — to no avail. One by one, Delilah’s allies had been taken off the board, and still here Luca sat, letting his _guests_ kill his servants and his famed Grand Guard sleep on the job.

‘The point of power,’ she remembered her mother’s words, ‘is to share it, to use it to protect and defend those who have none.’ Jessamine Kaldwin had not been infallible — she had, perhaps, indeed let down her sister. But she had barely been ten years old. _Just as old as you were when you took the throne,_ a whispering voice in her head reminded her, and she hated how much that voice sounded like Delilah. Ever since she had visited her that night in her dreams, Emily found herself thinking of that story.

Yet, all that changed little of how Delilah had chosen to reclaim her throne — her family, if such a notion held any value for her. It didn’t change that she was still holding Alexi hostage, imprisoned in stone for all Emily knew. Reports had reached Karnaca that the throne room in Dunwall was now littered with bodies: trapped faces, trapped screams. Some would have sworn allegiance to Delilah, others came to oppose or at least question her. None should survive the journey; for the ones who dared challenge her would die, and those who would swear fealty to her only too readily could not be trusted. Emily had no wish to examine the conduct of Dunwall’s aristocracy in her absence once she returned, but she knew well enough she would have to, if just to determine who to trust with what remained of her Empire after this. Here in Karnaca, Corvo and Daud had spent hours upon hours in and out of noble houses, beguiling or intimidating at her behest; and what she did today would decide whether these efforts had been in vain.

Delilah had taken what had not belonged to her, and honour dictated that Emily take back what was hers. Dishonoured, disowned, she cowered in the shadows of a foreign palace; ready to take the head — or the crown — of a man who ruled a country she was connected to by blood and yet by so little else. In all the weeks she’d been here, she’d been unable to determine whether the people of Serkonos _loved_ her.

Leaving Luca’s guests to amuse themselves in their ignorance and decadence, Emily moved further through the house. _Of course_ Luca had a Clockwork Soldier patrolling up and down the gallery above the dining room. Unnerved enough to be impatient, Emily laid down a stun mine before making herself scarce. She waited on the stairs until she could no longer feel the machine’s heavy steps setting the ground to vibrate beneath her feet, and then she made her way up towards the Duke’s own private chambers.

 _She is near, and yet not_ , the Heart suddenly murmured. _There’s a presence here. She has lived here, and some part of her does still, locked away below the ground._

Emily thought of the massive bronze statue that loomed tall at the far end of the lavish dining hall. Something told her that monstrosity was not what her mother meant. What she noticed first when she crept closer to the guest quarters was the distinct aroma of Cullero cigars, which was curious. The Duke did not smoke; perhaps a surprise, given all his other vices, varied and many. Casting her eye into the Void, she could tell there were two inside. Carefully, she ducked down to spy through the keyhole, and found a guard — and Duke Luca Abele. Only, he was smoking, and he murmured something the real Duke would never say:

“I hope Lucia’s alright. I haven’t heard from her in a few days.”

Withdrawing, Emily blinked for a moment. Should she be so lucky, to stumble upon him here? She set her hand upon the door, only to hesitate. Here, the Outsider would not grant her the chance to turn back time, and she had not yet learnt to bend it; just to take a closer look, to see if the supposed double had anything on him that would prove him such. Taking a deep breath, she drew open the door and in the same step became one with the Void, all shadow and wisp of smoke. The guard never saw her coming.

Neither did her true target.

When he turned, there was no question he recognised her.

“I see,” he said. “No offer to bow, or kiss my hand? A mystery, then. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Emily’s blood ran cold. He looked exactly like Luca, he _sounded_ exactly like him — she would never forget his grating voice the day of the memorial. But the guards had had no reason to lie. She gathered her courage and, once again, tugged her scarf down her face; enjoying the way his eyes widened when he realised it was truly her.

“If you were Luca, I might — but then, he brought with him the witch that took my throne,” she returned. “You’re his double, aren’t you? You can have no love for the man yourself.”

For a moment, he simply regarded her. Then, something like a smile flitted over his expression. “Alright, you’ve figured it out. And now what? We’re down here in his queen’s quarters, and he’s up there, well protected and feeling safe as Morgengaard himself.“

“No matter how safe he feels here, in his little monument, I’ve come to end his rule. I have an idea you should hear, and I think you’ll know what I mean when I tell you that I’ve spoken to Lucia Pastor and she’s mentioned the plans you have for Karnaca.”

“If you’ve come to assassinate the Duke, then why seek to speak to me?” he ventured.

“It occurs to me that you might make a more agreeable Duke than Luca Abele,” Emily told him curtly. “If I could depose him without having to slit his throat, do you think you could convince people that you’re the real deal?”

The double thought for a while, rubbing his fingers together in a gesture that spoke of a mannerism not learnt but ingrained. “I have to admit, I’ve thought about it. If we could make his guards believe that I am the Duke and that he’s the decoy, we could have him arrested for treason and trying to kill me to take over the throne of Serkonos. We could convince everyone that he’s finally lost his mind. I’ve spent years perfecting my performance… but there’s a catch.” He paused.

Emily had expected no less, and gestured for him to continue.

“He has a medallion that I need. Even if I _sound_ convincing, his officers will ask to see it as proof of my identity. Luca never lets it leave his person.”

Emily smirked. Was that all?

“I wasn’t going to suggest simply storming into his quarters and accusing him outright,” she said. “Knocking him out is the least I can do to help.” She thought for a moment. “Then, you can put on a show for the Grand Guard; whatever’s necessary to sell this.”

The double seemed anxious, but then visibly steeled his resolve and nodded. He could probably scarcely believe that there was now finally a chance to get rid of Luca, and put whatever plans he was a part of into motion. “Fine, I’ll do it. What happens then?”

“Once it’s done, I’ll be leaving the city. I have to return to Dunwall, and take back my throne. Soon after that, I’ll send further instructions, and I expect a great deal of flexibility and cooperation on your part. Lucia Pastor, Alexandria Hypatia, and Aramis Stilton will know what to do; and there’ll be more additions to your table.”

“A council?” he asked. “You’re truly suggesting..?”

“That’s what you were planning all along, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said. “But forgive my surprise at hearing the suggestion from the Empress of the Isles herself.”

“We can undo the damage Luca Abele has inflicted, and pull Serkonos back from the edge of the cliff. But we can’t do it alone,” she conceded.

“Alright. But if I’m to be the Duke, then I’ll guide Serkonos in the ways I see fit for the people here; not as the hand-chosen puppet of your Empire.“

“Agreed.” Emily could already tell he was going to be headstrong, but at least he would have the citizens’ best interests at heart. She would much rather haggle over trade commissions with someone who wasn’t only out for his own profit. She looked around for a moment. “Why are you in Delilah’s quarters?“

“It’s quiet here,“ he said. “And besides, the woman scares me, but her art is… different. Come on.”

“I suppose it is,” Emily murmured as she followed him through to the other room. “What is it?”

“Here,” he said, waving a hand at the wall. “This one might interest you.”

Turning the corner, Emily found a painting in a gilded frame — of her, as a child, in Delilah’s style of fifteen years ago. Her new paintings were different: the same bold colours, the same vibrancy and lust for life, but with a different direction, as though viewing her subject through a fragmented lens, breaking light and lines. Was this… she had never asked what Corvo and Daud had done with the painting Delilah had meant to use for her ritual all those years back.

“It does,” she said quietly. “Thank you.” Without another word, she drew her knife, and cut it from its frame. Once she’d tucked it into her vest, she made for the door. “I’ll pay his office a visit, first. Meet me upstairs in ten minutes.”

He nodded. She was almost out of the room when she heard him say, “Just in case you’re curious. My name is Armando.”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “It won’t be much longer.“

*

She’d be right. Finding Luca, disposing of his personal guard and then himself, took all of five minutes. It was almost too easy, Emily thought, and then remembered that she had the Void at her fingertips and a decade’s worth of training at the hands of the two most dangerous men in the Empire. She had been made into a scalpel and a blunt instrument both, trained to infiltrate high walls, and then to either sneak or murder her way through those who lived inside. Tonight, she had chosen the scalpel once again. ‘Half of it’s luck,’ Emily remembered Corvo’s words to her during training, when she’d been barely fifteen. ‘And the other?’ she’d challenged, parrying Rinaldo’s blade swipe. ‘Fate.’ Daud had suddenly transversed up behind her, throwing her off balance. It had been one of those philosophical lessons.

After the guards had taken a screaming Luca away, Emily rejoined Armando — the new and old Duke of Serkonos — by the ceiling-high windows overlooking the bay. They remained there for a while, discussing his plans for Serkonos, and her return to Dunwall. He asked her if she looked to fight Delilah alone, and she shrugged. They spoke for perhaps half an hour before she told him she absolutely had to leave. He gestured at the microphone set up by a table.

“Would you like to say a few words, before you go?”

“Won’t _your_ guards come to arrest me?”

“They’ve had enough excitement for one night, I think,” he smiled. He seemed to be settling well into his new role.

Hesitantly, Emily stepped towards the microphone. She collected her thoughts, and then pressed the switch.

> “People of Karnaca, this is your rightful ruler, Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin. I came here to Karnaca, the Jewel of the South, with one purpose in mind: to set things right with the Duke of Serkonos, Luca Abele, who has of late been deceived by the pretender to my throne, Delilah Copperspoon. Duke Abele and I are old friends and in his heart he is a loyal ally and servant to the Empire. I will leave you now and return to Dunwall, but know this: we have parleyed and the Duke now understands the crisis in full. My hope is to restore my throne in Dunwall with haste. I am first and foremost the ruler of Gristol, but Serkonan blood flows through my veins. Your blood. Therefore, I bid you farewell and ask you to maintain your faith and loyalty, both in the Duke and in me. I will address you again soon.”

*

While Armando now wore the medallion, Emily had taken the key to Luca’s vault. She hadn’t looked in every nook and cranny of the palace, but there was no doubt that the effigy was locked away in there. The vault sat in an annex, the building round and with a domed roof made of glass. Light shone through, and Emily had no trouble believing that the vault lights never went out, no matter that there was no-one there to admire all the precious things the Duke had stashed away. After months of stealing what she needed to buy supplies and ammunition, Emily would have no compunction taking from Luca Abele — and she was sure that Armando would find better uses for what else was inside than letting it be covered in dust. She had a feeling that his plans for Serkonos would turn out costly; but then, so would whatever scheme she would have to draw up to restore Dunwall after her return.

Every thought of Dunwall brought reminders of Alexi, and Emily ached. She felt guilty for how she pushed the thought of her, trapped in Delilah’s grasp, away so she could focus. She remembered what Corvo had been like when he’d sought for Daud in the Void. All of his free time — what little of it he’d had, as Royal Protector and Spymaster and the Empress’ father — had been taken up by research, his nights by going to the Void itself and searching, searching and never finding. She doubted there had been many moments he’d not thought of him. And now here she was, thinking of her throne and her empire. Emily had learnt, over the course of this Coup, that she had been remiss in one vital moment of her reign: to hold that and those which she loved close enough to her heart. She had taken things for granted, and people, too. When this was over, she had a question to ask of Wyman and Alexi.

*

Emily broke into the vault through the kitchens, where a hidden passage sat concealed. She pocketed a vial of Addermire Solution and an S&J elixir, knowing that they would have to leave Hypatia and Vasco behind here in Karnaca when they began the journey for Dunwall. They could not guarantee Vasco’s health for the entire length of the two-week voyage, and Hypatia was needed here. Lucia Pastor had pledged her support in setting up a way for Hypatia to meet patients and the families of miners afflicted with the Black Spittle; and Emily would not be the one to delay the venture. She had kept Alexandria long enough. If she was injured in taking back her throne, she would simply have to hope that Dr Toksvig had survived the excitement. Emily had sent her away from Dunwall before the memorial, but she had no doubt that Sandi had found her way back within a week after the Coup, to help in the resistance effort. Nothing could deter that woman from what she felt was right, and her first and foremost purpose was to help.

Once inside, Emily was not surprised to find another Clockwork Soldier patrolling. She stepped into the ante-chamber, a room filled with archival shelves and a large table covered in maps — a war room, the mirror image of the boards in the main room of the Wale. Whereas Emily and Meagan had collected evidence to unravel the conspiracy, this was where it had been made. She nearly flinched when she found a copy of a silvergraph of Breanna Ashworth on the table, her face crossed out in red paint. Delilah must have angrily commanded Luca to remove her from the board and, thus, their consideration.

Emily set another stun mine by the inner vault door and waited. After the Clockwork Soldier fell apart, she took a moment to consider that this was still not the last of those things she would have to face. Kirin Jindosh’s voice would haunt her all the way to Dunwall, all the way to her throne. She did not relish the prospect.

Making her way into the vault’s main chamber, she looked around: the shelves all around the room were bowing under the weight of the reserves — and Corvo and Daud had considered what they’d had transported into Emily’s safe room in the Tower excessive even for emergencies. Princely entitlement had sunk its teeth into Luca good and true, and Emily was glad for a moment that her mother, and her fathers, had taught her better; even as it was unfair to Theodanis. She was sure he, and Aramis, had tried. But everyone else seemed to have had a vested interest in making Luca the most spoilt brat possible. She vaguely remembered a story about how he’d lost his younger brother — on a trip to Dunwall, no less; during an altercation in the street. She knew none of the details, but she was sure circumstances had not been as simple as the brief entry in the history book she’d had to read during her lessons as a princess had suggested. Gristol’s historians liked to gloss over things that did not immediately serve them in telling the story they fancied most at the time. But she knew that old scars ran deep — she’d have to ask Corvo and Daud, sometime, whether they knew anything about it. They would have more than enough time on the upcoming journey home.

Finally, Emily made her way around the room and came to stand in front of the effigy.

_Her spirit… it is here. I can feel it. It was so distant at the house, but now…_

Emily laid a hand over her coat, where the Heart nestled into the pockets and folds as though it weren’t there. She was sure that if anyone were to pat her down, they wouldn’t even be able to feel it. It had been a shock, too, to find that Meagan could see it. Emily had worked to hide it from everyone but Corvo and Daud for months, and she was sure Meagan could not have spotted it before. But that night, she’d startled her and she’d turned without thinking, only for Meagan’s eyes to widen in horror. Corvo and Daud had been below deck, and Emily had beckoned Meagan closer, to sit with her — with them, for the Heart spoke to Meagan as though they knew each other. Meagan, as was her habit, ploughed through her discomfort and, truth be told, disgust, and listened to Emily explain what the Heart was and how it had come to be in her possession. There was no doubt in Emily’s mind that it had something to do with the changes they’d wrought at Aramis’ house, three years ago and now, and she wondered if this was the only consequence. It was, certainly, the only consequence Meagan had admitted to.

“What do I do?” Emily asked quietly. She removed the Heart from her coat, and felt her eyes widen when not merely her mother’s voice emanated from it, but her likeness as well. Rendered in the hues of the Void, Jessamine Kaldwin looked as she had on the day of her death. Emily wondered if she should feel relief that her recollections of her mother, frail though they felt sometimes, were still accurate. “Mother?”

_You must release me from this dead vessel. Only then will you be able to trap Delilah’s spirit._

“I don’t know how,“ Emily admitted. What was she to do? And to cast her mother out into Oblivion, for the sake of the soul of a witch, to be stolen and trapped and ferried back to her in a heart that was not her own… how?

_I’ve stayed as long as I could, trying to guide you. But my time has come. There is something else waiting for me, now. The world is better for your influence. Speak your words, your blessing, and I will be on my way._

Emily gathered her thoughts, tried to imagine what to say. All this time, wanting for nothing but her mother returned to her, and she never thought of the words she might say to have them part, one last time, forever. She reached out, and her mother’s ghostly hand found her own. It was like touching the Void — cold, and flowing, there and not. She cleared her throat.

“Be at peace, Mother. I will honour you. Always.”

_Oh, Emily. I love you. And I am glad, for this is the final thought I carry into nothingness._

As Emily watched, her mother’s spirit faded away like sunlight eclipsed by the moon. She blinked to prevent the tears from falling, and turned to the effigy, the Heart sitting empty in her hands.

“Now, then,“ she whispered, “it is done.” She raised the Heart towards the effigy, and felt the gravitational pull it exuded now that it was nothing but an empty vessel. The effigy shook before her, trembling, until eventually it burst open, and the blackness that was Delilah’s soul was drawn into the Heart, swirling around Emily’s hands as though trying to find a way into _her_ , instead. When it was complete, the effigy burst out into blinding light, and the wings that had protected Delilah’s spirit stood broken and mangled at its sides.

 _What’s this? The heart of my half-sister? Only her flesh remains_ , Delilah’s voice sneered from the confines of the vessel, and Emily had as good a mind to drop it and leave it here as to lock it up somewhere and use it as bait for Delilah to come and fetch it herself. _Jessamine is gone at last, gone from this world, forever. Her reward… is all and nothing._

“Not peace?” Emily questioned, though she thought she knew better.

_Who can say if there is peace in the Void as there is in Oblivion?_

“You—” No. Emily would not play these games. Her mother had found peace, and she would not let Delilah make a fool of her by believing her lies. “That will be for you to find out,” she promised instead.

Delilah remained silent.

*

Emily waited for Meagan to pick her up at the Palace’s private dock. Out of sight of the Duke’s ‘friends,’ still revelling and blissfully unaware that they were all going to be booted out in the morning, Emily did not even wait for Meagan to bring the skiff all the way to the dock. She balanced on the cliff rock butting up to the outer wall of the Palace gardens, and reached across the water from there. Meagan graciously did not comment on her impatience.

“So, is it done? Is this the fall of Karnaca?” Meagan asked. “The entire city heard that announcement.”

“The people will find that their beloved Duke has had a change of heart,” Emily told her. “And Luca… is going to get a taste of his own medicine. Lucia Pastor’s efforts paid off.”

“Good.” Meagan paused as she turned the skiff around. “It’s almost a pity. But, good. And Delilah?”

“I have what she seeks as much as she fears it,” Emily answered, too exhausted to bother with the particulars.

Meagan simply nodded, and it was all the words they needed. They returned to the Wale, where Aramis and Hypatia were up on deck, waiting. Emily and Meagan secured the skiff and got out, when Daud emerged from the stairs — alone.

“Is it done?” he asked, his expression shuttered as she’d rarely seen it.

“Luca’s taken care of.” She looked behind him. “Where’s Corvo?”

Daud didn’t answer, and immediately Emily’s stomach tied itself into knots.

“Where is he?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) ALL THE FEELS.  
> b) Nearly made a Jane Eyre reference. Didn't work.  
> c) Definitely made a GoldenEye reference. Did work.  
> d) GOODBYE JESSAMINE WE LOVE YOU <3  
> e) where's Corvo???  
> d) reference photos for how the old ducal palace looked in my head: [tumblr](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/180652206353/headcanon-reference-photos-for-the-old-ducal)


	24. Chapter Twenty-One — But Let Me Ask You One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting on the journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end now, my god! Today, the answer to the thrilling question, 'Where the fuck is Corvo??'
> 
> Soundtrack: [Back Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsdVSEHdZf0&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=87).
> 
> Also, here's a fluffy outtake from this chapter: [Sewer Rat Attano](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/180681770496/sewer-rat-attano-corvodaud)
> 
> also I have a new twitter: [@grumblewhale](https://twitter.com/grumblewhale)

“We had to split up,” Daud eventually explained. “Witches arrived in from the other side of the district, and we didn’t have time to lead them into a trap, so all we had left was a wild goose chase.” He waved a hand. “Corvo’s the wild goose,” he added, his expression tense in a way that told Emily that the decision who was to be the wild goose had not been an easy one, nor made by strictly mutual agreement. She wondered how Corvo had won.

“How long?”

“I’ve been back for half an hour.”

Emily suppressed a frustrated groan. “How is he going to get out?”

“The black market shop was just getting a new shipment. The captain agreed to take Corvo out here once she’s done.”

Somewhat reassured, Emily nodded. “Alright. But when—”

“Quit your dithering,” Corvo’s voice suddenly sounded from behind her, and she turned just to see him heave himself on board.

“How—?”

“Took a rowboat instead,” he said, stepping around Meagan, then Emily, to get to Daud. “Didn’t have time to waste.”

“To do what?” Daud asked, dark eyes fixed on Corvo’s face.

“This.” Before Daud — or anyone else, for that matter — could challenge him, Corvo had clasped his face in his hands and kissed him. Daud’s hands rose uncertainly before landing on his biceps a moment later to hold on; and Emily finally remembered to give them some privacy. She turned her back, finding Meagan looking vaguely ill.

“I suppose they’re fine?” she suggested.

Meagan arched her brow. “Uh-huh.”

Together, they made their way below deck.

 

* * *

 

 

It was time to return to Dunwall. Emily could scarcely believe it. After all these weeks, _months_ , of working towards a singular goal, taking out their enemies, haggling with reluctant allies, and trying to keep the few friends they had left safe; they could finallystart on the journey back to Gristol. Home. She dared not ask Corvo and Daud whether it would truly feel like home to them — to say nothing of Meagan. Her home was the Ocean, she’d once told Emily during a quiet night up on deck, back at the beginning when everyone had been wary of each other and too uncertain to reveal their thoughts except in private. Emily had never deluded herself that those words had truly been a confidence, but looking at the surly captain now, perhaps she’d been wrong in that assumption.

Emily remembered Billie Lurk as cold, reserved, and aloof, but there was a warmth in Meagan’s voice now when she spoke to Daud that had not been there before; and that Emily suspected she’d had to work hard to get back. Corvo and Daud had eventually joined them below deck after… putting aside their differences, and Emily had quietly enjoyed the somewhat peeved expression on Daud’s face as well as the absolutely unrepentant one on Corvo’s. It seemed one of them was always getting dragged into mischief by the other even at their age, and there was never any telling who was doing the dragging and who was digging in their heels while screaming bloody murder — and secretly enjoying it.

As it was, their relationship was now obviously so much deeper than it had been fifteen, five, or even two years ago, but Emily would admit to envy that, even after so much time together, they still grew in their understanding of each other. To say nothing of their devotion to one another, Emily thought wistfully. Thoughts of Wyman and Alexi took a hold of her heart once more, and she ached more than ever now knowing that she was so close to seeing them again. Ternion had not confirmed it, but she was sure that following the news of Alexi’s capture, nothing would have kept Wyman in Morley. They were sure to have set out for Dunwall already — and with the reports of Parliament burning reaching Karnaca, Emily could only hope that they had not thought to bring an army.

“Help me clean and raise them, Your Majesty,” Meagan’s voice shook her from her dreary thoughts.

Emily looked up and followed Meagan’s gesture to the galley, where a stack of glasses was waiting for a rinse and, Void be willing, rum. Glad for the distraction, she joined Meagan at the wash pitcher.

“Not the cheap stuff, promise me,” she still remembered to object. Corvo and Daud might pretend not to know how well she knew the dregs of bottles from all over the Empire, as all fathers should who had long since realised that their daughters could hold their liquor just as well as they did; but Emily had indeed met more than a few hangovers brought on by quality rather than quantity, and liked none of them.

“Oh no no,” Meagan reassured her with a smirk. “Only Orbon tonight.”

Emily cut her a glare. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Depends on the distillery, then, doesn’t it,” Meagan returned, still smirking, then paused. “Please tell me you’ve made Corvo or Daud hold your hair for you at least once.”

Buoyed by the fact that she could finally leave Karnaca and even more by her good fortune in having found a decent way of deposing Luca, Emily sniffed in mock disdain. “An Empress holds her own hair. And she certainly doesn’t get her Royal Protector to do so for her.”

“You might want to ask your mother a question or two about that,” Meagan shot back, but stilled. “I—I’m sorry, that didn’t—”

“It’s alright,” Emily interrupted her. “It’s fine.” She hadn’t told Corvo and Daud what had happened that night when Meagan had returned from Upper Cyria, that she was capable of seeing the Heart, and that they’d talked, the three of them. She wasn’t sure they should know. Touched by the Void, even though no longer bound to Daud’s powers… Meagan hadn’t chosen to bring it up since then. Now Emily had a choice to make, as well. “We need to lock it up,” she said at length.

“Lock it up? Why?” Meagan questioned as she dried the last glass. At once, she froze, horrified understanding in her eyes. “Delilah. You used the Heart to…?”

Emily nodded.

“And your—your mother?”

“She’s gone,“ Emily said quietly.

“Oh.” For a moment, Meagan didn’t say anything. “Do Corvo and Daud know?”

“They said their goodbyes this morning.” Emily ran her thumb over the rim of one of the glasses she was holding. “It’s not fair.” What was, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Never is. Come on,” Meagan nudged her elbow. “Let’s get the old men drunk. Maybe we can get some embarrassing stories out of them.”

*

As it was, it was Meagan who was being got to tell a story. Wedged into the main room of the ship with Stilton, Hypatia and Vasco, who had finally removed the last of the bandages on his face himself that day, they drank rum and had a very strange, but interesting evening. Emily regaled the others with all the things she’d found in and sadly hadn’t been able to carry out of Luca’s vault in the Palace. But it was when she arrived at the mention of a wooden gazelle that she’d found on what looked almost like a little altar that Daud’s eyes turned to Meagan, his expression protective and demanding both.

A conversation passed between them without words, of the kind Emily believed them to have been capable of so long ago.

“What?” she queried. Corvo looked equally as curious; the others mainly confused.

“There’s a story,” Daud grated, “that I believe it may be beneficial to tell, if just to tie up some loose ends in that head of yours.” He said it to Emily, but his gaze remained with Meagan. “But it’s not my decision to make.”

“What does he mean?” Emily turned to Meagan.

“He means that he’s the only one who ever made the connection,” Meagan answered quietly. “None of the others did, not even Rulfio, Fleet, and Rinaldo, and they were far too nosy for their own good.”

“What connection?“ Corvo asked.

“My connection to the Duke of Serkonos. Or rather, his brother.” Meagan took another swig of rum before she fixed them all with a look. “If I tell you, it does not leave this room. And you, Aramis… you may not want to hear it.”

“As do all who live to see such times, I think,” Stilton returned. “Tell us. I am your friend today, and I will be tomorrow.”

Meagan smiled weakly. She poured herself another drink. And then, she began to speak. No-one interrupted her.

“I’ve loved a number of women and even a couple of men, but I've never loved anyone like my Deirdre. After I left home, those first years on the streets, she's all that kept me from the bottom of the river. I could sleep on a pile of garbage under a leaky awning as long as she was with me, sharing a tin of potted meat or a bottle of brandy that we nicked during the day.

“The Duke and his little brother came through Dunwall, and Deidre and I got in their way as they stepped out of their fancy coach. The Duke goaded his brother, calling us wharf roaches, and it was the brother who swung the stick that killed her, splitting her skull. There were wooden gazelles on top of the coach and I snapped one off and drove it into his eye as deep as it would go. Deirdre was already gone, dead as a doornail, lying in the muck and staring up at the gray Dunwall sky. Nothing was ever the same for me after they took her away.

“On the run after that, I was hunted by the City Watch and even members of the Grand Guard, up from Serkonos. People looked up at me like I was cursed, spitting whenever I got close. Everyone knew I'd bring trouble, even the gangs. Even Daud.” She looked at him across the table. “You knew. And you took me in anyway.”

Daud said nothing. For a while, no-one did.

“I remember,” Corvo said eventually. “It was chaos. They searched for weeks, but they could not find the girl.”

Meagan shrugged.

“Do you have anything left of her?“ Emily asked. “Of Deidre?”

Meagan’s expression closed again.

“No. I don’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

Before going to bed, Meagan showed Emily where to lock up the Heart. No-one wanted it below deck, not with the way it was, and so they stuck it into a box Meagan kept on deck, usually used for more troublesome cargo. It looked different now, as if the flesh had been blackened. Delilah.

“Piero made it?” Meagan asked.

“Yes,” Emily confirmed as she laid it in the box. Meagan swore she could hear it hissing, as if it knew. “And then he made a replica and put it on display. Well. You know what they say. Some people mistake an ounce of empathy for a pound of science.”

“Mmh,” Meagan hummed, locking the box and offering Emily the key. She took it.

“You coming?”

“No,” Meagan shook her head. “I’ll stay up here a while, clear my head.” She smirked. “Gonna help with the hangover.”

“Don’t remind me,” Emily groaned, already looking worse for wear.

The cargo hold was open, and Meagan could swear she heard Corvo singing the song of the drunken whaler from the galley. After telling them the truth about losing Deidre, talk had mercifully turned to more cheerful chapters eventually. She reminded herself that they deserved a celebration: they’d unravelled Delilah’s coup, and freed Serkonos from Luca. In that light, it was somehow gratifying to know that even the stoic Royal Protector had not forgotten his days of roaming the bars of Karnaca as a young soldier. Daud, Meagan was certain, had never been young — an ass, certainly. How else would he have ended up with that scar.

“Alright, good night,” Emily said at length, letting her powers take her down into the main room, barely making Meagan blink. Months ago, having her ship invaded by a trio of Marked had driven her up the wall with resentment. Now, it just made her tired.

“Good night,” she waved a hand at Emily’s retreating back. The others would find their bunks on their own, leaving Meagan to enjoying the early morning air of the bay.

She stayed up there for a while, undisturbed by anything but the waves rolling against the hull. But just as she turned to leave, there was a voice in the air she’d thought she’d never hear again, and that stopped her in her tracks.

_There are cracks in the world from the Outsider’s birth, and we draw from these fractures. You can feel them, too, can’t you? The part of you that’s broken._

“I’m not talking to you,” Meagan returned. It was all she had to say to her.

_She found the place where he was birthed by knife and ritual, thousands of years past._

Without another look back, Meagan made for the stairwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) [Losing Deidre audiograph](http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Losing_Deidre...)  
> b) Corvo and Daud: still absolute walnuts squabbling over who gets to put himself in mortal danger ('It's my turn!!' — 'Don't you dare, Attano!!' — *kissing noises*)  
> c) Meagan may not have the details on how Daud got his scar, but she definitely knows he earned it by being a jackass. 10/10 good daughter.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Two — All These Hunters Who Are Shrieking Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's a heretic now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE SO CLOSE. Next week, Delilah's fate will be decided. Shit, I can hardly believe we're nearly at the end of this story... feels like yesterday that I finally started posting it; and yet half an eternity :'D
> 
> Soundtrack: [Which Witch, by Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTLzqke528Y&index=88&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN). Jesus, it's been SO LONG since I first put that track on the master playlist.

The closer they got to Dunwall, the more Meagan felt that black echo from the past, as black as the smoke and fog that seemed to cover all of Dunwall, drowning out the light of the sun even though they’d arrived in the wee hours of the morning. She wondered how much the city the witches had simply burnt down by now. Dunwall Tower stood tall above everything, just as easy to make out as the Clocktower. It was even stronger now than it had been four months ago, that feeling of foreboding. She’d known then that there was every chance she’d be too late to prevent what she’d known, with terrifying certainty, was coming. Her head hurt to remember, her memories of those weeks at sea strangely hazy. But this time, she had every notion that what they had accomplished, in Karnaca, might mean nothing in light of what awaited them in Dunwall. No matter what it was, they would have to contend with it — there was no Timepiece to help them here.

And it was cold. So damn cold. Meagan tugged up the collar of her coat and shook her head. She always forgot just how unforgiving the North could be.

Emily joined her at the railing as the Dreadful Wale made her way upriver. Meagan had left the bridge to Corvo, who was comfortable enough at the rudder to be left to his own devices. He’d been up and down the Wrenhaven a thousand times with Samuel, the old boatman — one of the only ones even Billie Lurk would have remembered fondly, if she’d had the time for it. Daud was below deck, packing the last of their things: ‘in case we have to do a runner,’ he’d said. The Dreadful Wale would stay here at the docks as advertised, but there was every chance that Meagan’s erstwhile passengers would not be able to come with her, should the need arise to leave Dunwall once again.

At the docks, there would be watchers. According to what Ternion had told her before getting back to the _Corinth_ was that the lower part of the district was abandoned, and even the witches hardly came down to the pier anymore. There were just the hounds, and those desperate enough to stay. The Hatters, of course, had cut their meagre profits from whatever was now left. All they had to do, was wait.

“Seeing Dunwall again,” Emily began to speak, “I can feel myself begin to shift, to change. In Karnaca, I was hunted, I was fighting to be returned a throne I might have never even seen again, had I failed. And now, we’re back, and it’s _so close_ ,“ she ended on a whisper, her gaze fixed on her Tower.

“It’s a race against time,” Meagan answered. “Whatever Delilah is planning, she has to be close to completing it. But she’s stuck up there in that Tower, and the city’s crumbling around her. You are the hunter now.“

“I hope so.” Emily turned to lean back against the railing. “I had an idea, during the voyage.”

“Always dangerous,“ Meagan returned easily, and Emily smiled.

“I want to launch a ship, in my mother’s name. A steamer, large enough to take at least a hundred passengers.“

“When did you dream that up?” Meagan asked, askance. “Do you have any idea what such a ship would cost?”

“Not as much as Luca’s ducal palace,” Emily countered, and Meagan scoffed.

“That’s the least of it.” She shook her head. “Are you sure?”

Emily nodded, then tilted her head. “How long have you had the Wale now?”

“Eight years,” Meagan said quietly.

“That’s a long time. But, whoever you bought it from couldn’t spell right.”

“It was me that named her.“

“You? But, why?”

“You like riddles so much,” Meagan challenged, “you figure it out.”

For a while, they were silent as Corvo brought the Wale ever closer to their destination. At length, Emily gave her a sideways look. “Ships make that which we wish to remember immortal,” she remarked. “Do they not?”

Meagan watched her a moment, but didn’t answer.

Before Emily could say anything else, the telltale sound that accompanied Transversal startled them both.

“Oh, thank the Void,” a young man that, even through his Whaler mask and even fifteen years later, sounded suspiciously like Fergus exclaimed, and within seconds, Meagan watched as Emily found herself bowed to, and then heaved up in a bear hug.

“It’s good to see you, Fergus,” Emily said as she patted his back. He let her down, and looked her over at arm’s length. “I’m fine. Corvo and Daud are inside.”

“Good,” was all he said. Then, finally, he let his gaze snap to Meagan. “And you are— _fuck_!“

Meagan couldn’t say she was surprised. “Hello, Fergus.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Emily asked as she followed Meagan up to the bridge. “You’re still coming with us into the city?“ Walking up the stairs in front of her, Emily didn’t miss that Meagan was clenching her fists.

“I haven’t seen any of them in fifteen years, and spoken to few. Thomas, mainly. He wrote to ask for my help when Daud got himself stuck in the Void and Corvo wasn’t getting anywhere interrogating witches in Coldridge.” Meagan shook her head. “I have no reason to believe this will go well.”

“Daud will be there,” Emily sought to reassure her, but Meagan stopped and turned on the spot, glowering down at her.

“That’s the problem. What I did, I did to him. And bound to Corvo or no, if they stayed this long, they wouldn’t just die for him. They’d kill for him.”

“Meagan,” Emily said and stepped up so they were of a height. “It was fifteen years ago, and you are the reason we got out of Dunwall alive. Whatever grudge they hold, it can wait until after Delilah is back in the Void, where she belongs.”

Meagan sighed. “Your words in the Outsider’s ear.”

“I’m not sure he’d be inclined to help,” Emily returned, but Meagan sent her a shrewd look.

“He’s _helped_ you more than most. He brought the two most dangerous men in this city together to protect you, and he’s given you a piece of the Void as well. That’s more than he’s ever done for all the world. Certainly more than he’s ever done for me.”

Emily averted her gaze. She didn’t have to guess to know that Meagan was thinking of Deidre. She meant to apologise, but Meagan didn’t wait for her to grapple with her latent guilt and privilege.

“Come now, Empress. You were born with a silver spoon, and I slept in abandoned butcher shops. It is what it is. Let’s make the best of it.”

“So you’re coming?” Emily asked hopefully.

Meagan heaved a sigh, but then, eventually, nodded. “If I know them still, I know I can’t leave you alone with them for five minutes before you’re all getting into trouble. And Rinaldo will be glued to your side from the first.”

“Give him some credit,” Emily objected, but in that moment, Daud appeared on the landing below them, his and Corvo’s packs slung over his shoulder — all the things they’d somehow accumulated while in Karnaca.

“That boy is always three bolts short of a bad idea, and you know it,” he grated.

Meagan gestured towards him as if to say, ‘see?’

Emily looked between them, incredulously. “He’s thirty-five years old!“

Daud raised a brow. “Be glad you didn’t know me at thirty-five,“ he drawled, and then transversed out on deck.

Next to her, Meagan scoffed. “How does Corvo put up with him?“

“I don’t know,” Emily returned somewhat miserably. “Was he always like this?”

“No,” Meagan said emphatically. “Corvo turned him soft.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Corvo suddenly called from upstairs.

Emily grimaced.

*

The Tower District truly was mostly abandoned. This close to Delilah, there were hardly any residents left still trying to make the best of the situation — except, of course, for the Hatters. There was a black market shop just at the edge of the docks, and Emily made a note to drop in on them later. When the five of them clambered over the walls of the pier onto the street, Emily had to stop and breathe for a moment. The road was covered in broken furniture and debris, and in the gloom of the smoke-filled sky, the world looked every bit as dreary now as it had in the Dust District. Her only consolation was that not everywhere could be as bad as this, and that even though the Tower District certainly wasn’t safe for anyone, there were enclaves all over the city that the witches couldn’t get into after the Coup. Delilah hadn’t let the Clockworks out of the Tower after Emily, Corvo, and Daud had disappeared, and so the Whalers merely had to contend with a few of her witches — and on their own turf, the Whalers were nigh invincible, Void or not. So there were districts where people were safe, the wounded tended to, and everyone looked after.

One such enclave, Emily was not surprised to learn, was the Distillery District.

“What about the Abbey?” she asked Fergus as they made their way down the river in a small boat he’d dug up from underneath a tarp.

“You worried about _them_?” he shot her a look.

“I’m worried about the one decent High Overseer Dunwall’s ever known,” she returned.

Fergus shrugged. “The Overseers have held Holger Square, don’t ask me how, the witches tried everything to get in there. But Khulan’s fine. He’s growing impatient, though.“

“Who’s been dealing with him?” Daud asked from the other end of the boat.

“Ames, mostly. And Timsh.”

“Timsh?” Daud incredulity echoed Emily’s own. “That geezer’s still alive? And who let him out of prison?”

Fergus threw another look over his shoulder, this one asking if Daud had been sleeping everywhere _but_ the knife box. “Thalia. Don’t ask me how, but she found us, and she’s helping.”

Emily blinked. “Alright. Who else?”

“The Eels are holding Drapers Ward. The Hatters pulled their lads into the Tower District, unsurprisingly, to make the most of the chaos since you left. Samuel’s here, too. He and Lizzy have been keeping an eye on the river.”

“Samuel came back? He was safe in Morley!”

Fergus shook his head. “He wasn’t gonna take no for an answer once he got here.“ When Emily didn’t reply, only put her face in her hands, he shrugged. “You can give him an earful for it later.“

“I will. Who else?”

“That’s all we got.“

“What about the remaining Boyle family?“ Corvo asked.

“They got out after the Coup. With Ichabod dead, there wasn’t anything holding the sisters here. Delilah took control of every coin they left behind.“

“Of course she did,” Emily muttered, resigned.

Next to her, Meagan had been suspiciously quiet the entire time. But now, she asked, “How many Whalers are still left?”

Fergus sent her a critical glance. “More than you’ll be comfortable knowing, Lurk.”

Meagan averted her gaze. “It’s Foster.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they got to Bottle Street and Slackjaw’s old distillery, that had somehow stood the test of time and tides and, as Daud assured Meagan, still looked as rundown and rat-infested as it ever had. Emily craned her neck and saw more than one Whaler poking their heads out of windows, no matter that Daud impatiently waved for them to get back out of sight. She wasn’t surprised that none of them seemed to be wearing their Watch uniforms anymore; but neither had they gone back to their Whaler attire. They wore jackets looking a lot like Daud’s new coat, however, and that did not shock her, either.

“Through here,” Fergus led them towards a side entrance. “They’ll know we’re here by now.”

Just then, a piercing whistle cut through the air.

“Dodge,” Daud sighed, sounding exhausted. Emily shot him an amused glance, but quickly sobered. Dodge and Kieron had been close. Daud had practically raised them together.

“They know,” Fergus repeated, just as the door opened.

“Emily!”

Before she could say or do anything, Emily found herself wrapping her arms around a familiar figure — a much missed, familiar figure.

“My love,” Wyman sobbed into her neck, holding her like a vice. Emily gripped them back just as tight.

“I’m home,” she murmured into their ear, stroking their hair with one hand, allowing herself to breathe in their scent for a moment. “It’s alright, I’m home now. Everything’s going to be alright.”

She felt Corvo step close from behind her, putting a hand on Wyman’s shoulder. “Good to see you safe,” he said quietly.

Daud mirrored the gesture on their other side, but also murmured, “I hate to break up the reunion, but we’re sitting gonoleks out here.”

Reluctantly, Emily moved out of Wyman’s hold, but not before kissing them firmly and brushing the tears from their cheeks with her thumbs.

“We need to get inside,” she said quietly. “Are Geoff and Thomas there?”

Wyman nodded. “They arrived an hour ago.“

“Good. Let’s go see them.” Taking Wyman by the hand, Emily led their party inside the Bottle Street Distillery.

 

* * *

 

 

Once inside the distillery yard, what briefly erupted was sheer and utter chaos: at their arrival, everyone fought to greet them, and nobody knew where to start. By rights, everyone should have bowed to their Empress first, but she only had so many hands to hold, and soon Corvo and Daud found themselves equally surrounded by Whalers, to cries of “Master Daud!” and “Lord Corvo!” that spoke of more joy than either of them had ever experienced in any arrival or return to Dunwall. It was when the first of them recognised Meagan, holding herself a few paces behind them, that silence fell over the crowd.

“Daud,” Galia questioned, transversing into a path of sorts between Meagan and them, that Corvo wasn’t sure she’d taken consciously but even so now commanded. “What’s Lurk doing here?”

“Her name is Foster,” Daud replied, loud enough for the entire yard to hear. “She saved our lives.”

The hush that followed was deafening, and it lasted until Curnow cleared his throat, standing to their left with Thomas at his side, and said, “Welcome back.“ To Corvo, he added, “News of what happened in Karnaca reached us a week ago. We’ve been preparing for your return.”

*

Following Geoff and the Whalers into the distillery proper, Corvo soon found himself dragged into the sturdy embrace of old Azariah, who through it all had held on to his hat and colourful sense of dress, which cheered Corvo more than he would have anticipated.

“Lad!” Slackjaw boomed in his ear, patting his back; then let him go and set a large hand on Daud’s shoulder in greeting him as well, then addressed Emily with a sketched bow and a murmur of, “Your Majesty.” Meagan, he spared only a glance to ascertain she was no threat — Corvo did not fault him for not recognising her. If the stories he’d heard about their chance encounter so many years ago were true, she’d have been wearing her Whaler mask that day, and would’ve been careful to keep to the shadows.

“Slackjaw,” Emily returned the greeting with his proper title and a teasing air, and he grinned at her. “Where’s my war room?”

“Right through here,” he gestured and again they followed.

Perhaps sensing that the time for offers of welcome had passed, seeing as they were already much delayed by all manner of chatter around them, the ones that were waiting for them inside Slackjaw’s office kept their greetings brief. Chatter, as it happened, that both Corvo and Daud were doing their best to ignore, struggling to adapt to being back in a crowd of people that were all capable and willing to protect Emily. The feeling felt novel all on its own, in addition to being back in Dunwall at all — to think that they had managed it. And now, one final mission.

Emily made her way through the throng of people to Slackjaw’s desk, joining Lizzy Stride and Martha Cottings; while the Whalers pushed towards the back of the room or found room on the stairs.

“Tell me.”

*

It took nearly an hour for all reports to be relayed, ending on the latest eye witness accounts from the Tower District.

“We’ve had reports of carts full of whalebone being brought directly to the Tower,” Cottings concluded. “That was three days ago.”

“Back in the day, Delilah liked to make her paints from pigment and whalebone,” was the first Daud thing said, briefly drawing all gazes to him, which he waved away impatiently.

“One of the witches we interrogated said that Delilah’s planning something big, and that she’s sequestered herself in the throne room to paint. No-one’s allowed inside. She doesn’t even particularly care anymore if anyone from her coven goes missing.”

“Where there’s Delilah, there’s always a painting. And where there’s a witch, there’s always a ritual.” Daud paused. “You can turn it against her, if you can find the source of her magic, banish her back to the Void.”

“Yes, because that worked so well the last time _you_ tried that,” Lizzy Stride cut in mercilessly. “Who’s to say she won’t break out _again_?”

Emily’s manner was pensive as she answered, “Delilah will receive the punishment she is due. Whatever form it takes, I’ll endeavour to make it permanent.” She waited a moment, and then cleared her throat. Corvo seemed to perceive that she was searching for Wyman’s hand with hers before she said, “There is one we haven’t spoken of.”

A different kind of silence fell around the room.

“What do you know of Alexi?”

For a moment, no-one seemed to dare to speak, but then—

“Captain Mayhew has been captured, and rumour has it she’s one of the statues in Delilah’s throne room,” Cottings responded. “That is, at least, what we could gather from our interrogations.”

“Statues?” Emily’s voice wavered, and Corvo felt her pain as though it were his own.

“She… casts people in stone who displease her,” Cottings explained. “That is all we know. We haven’t been able to recover anyone who went inside. Sometimes, it’s nobles who were willing to pledge allegiance to her, who went into the Tower and never came out again. Other times, it’s Watch officers who were loyal to Ramsey who never returned from shift.”

“Do we know anyone who has seen these statues?”

“A few Watch guards who deserted,” Cottings nodded. “We asked them all the questions we could think of, but they knew little of how the statues came to be.”

“Where there’s a witch, there’s always a ritual,” Emily repeated Daud’s words bitterly, but did not look in his and Corvo’s direction. She withdrew her hand from Wyman’s, Corvo noted, and laid them both on Slackjaw’s desk, covered in maps of the city. “But I have my own magic,” she raised her voice, so that everyone assembled might hear. Corvo watched as the Whalers around them shifted. They had undoubtedly suspected. “Who’s a heretic now, Delilah,” Emily added darkly, and then began digging through the pile of maps for one of the Tower itself.

“What are you thinkin’, Empress?” Slackjaw asked, scratching at his beard.

“We waste no more time,” Emily answered. “Delilah cannot be allowed to complete her ritual, whatever it may be. We go in, tonight.”

Corvo and Daud exchanged a glance.

*

Just before they left the distillery, Thomas stepped up to them.

“We found this,” he said, handing Daud a bonecharm. “We’ve found that sometimes witches have trouble getting away when we’re wearing it, or it makes them dizzy when they reappear.”

“Good find,” Daud said quietly, then looked up at Thomas. Curnow came up behind him then, putting his arm around Thomas’ waist. “How’ve you been?”

Thomas didn’t pretend to be surprised by the earnest question. “It’s been rough,” he answered honestly. “But we’re doing alright. Better, now that you’re all back. But we have to end this, now, or it’ll be too late. Whatever Delilah is planning, it’s not just Dunwall.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was Samuel who took them on the journey back towards the Tower. Perhaps it was foolish, making the trip twice in one day, but they hardly had time to spare, and neither Corvo nor Daud had contradicted Emily when she’d turned and, her chin held high, asked them if they were ready. She’d included Meagan in that question, too, but she had opted to stay behind at the distillery.

“This isn't my fight,” she'd said.

As they drove along the river, Corvo watched as Whalers followed along by the river’s edge, transversing from rooftop to rooftop. One by one, they fell back, taking up positions as far as Coldridge. Samuel continued on, taking them around the Tower and to the docks. Emily wanted to see the district first, the extent of the destruction. As destitute as wide parts of Karnaca had been, at least the lights had still been on. Not so here.

Corvo watched the old boatman as he steered them through the canals and along the riverbank. Samuel had been with them through all of this, from the very beginning; from ferrying an uncertain Royal Protector into the Flooded District that first time to meet an unlikely ally, to delivering them now to the Tower they had fought so hard to return to fifteen years ago. He’d helped them take care of Emily and protected her, and even after coronation he’d never abandoned them. He’d been there for Corvo through the agony of knowing Daud alone in the Void, beyond his reach; had helped them search after the bargain had been made. And now, he was old, so much older still for worrying over Emily’s return to Dunwall, and Corvo would wish that they could have spared him this.

As they reached the Tower District proper, Samuel brought them close to the east-side docks.

“Where will you go first?” he asked Emily.

“We have a few house calls to make before we can enter the Tower,” she explained, setting her hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “Thank you, old friend.”

Samuel smiled at her, then at Corvo and Daud. “Anything, my girl,” he said with a wistful look, heavily though the past must be weighing on him. “Go on, now, and give us back our rightful Empress.”

*

It was when they ascended the pier that the Heart in Emily’s hand suddenly spoke.

 _Bring me back to Dunwall Tower. Take me back to the cage of my own chest._ The words were spoken spitefully and filled with hatred; so different was Delilah’s spirit from the woman’s whose heart she now possessed, much as she’d once schemed to possess her daughter. _You let your mother slip away. Do you know where my mother is resting? In a child’s coffin, her skinny legs tucked underneath her, because I could not afford a proper burial — while my father rests in the Imperial Crypt._

“You’re lying,” Corvo growled, the first he’d spoken since they’d started out at the distillery.

_You still can’t accept it, much as your precious little girl. You were born a nobody, and now I inhabit your lover’s heart. It is I that walks the halls of your crumbling palace, Princess, and my body that sleeps between your sheets._

“Enough,” Daud barked without warning, startling even Emily, who had seemed deep in thought. “Enough of your lies, witch.“

 _Oh, Daud. You will know what it means to suffer when I take your Lord Protector’s heart and shove it down your pretend daughter’s throat as you watch_. _Tell me, does Corvo know you visited his queen while he was away, all those years ago?_

Even now, she was twisting shards of remembered truth into lies she felt might serve her. Corvo watched as Daud clenched his fists, but didn’t speak, his lips pressed together thinly. Emily, now, looked ill. She tucked the Heart back into her coat — not that it would keep Delilah’s spirit from speaking, if it had a mind to, but at least now they didn’t have to look at it. Where Corvo, before, had had no problem referring to the Heart as _her_ , it now physically pained him to think of the spirit now inhabiting that precious vessel as anything so much as resembling human. What Delilah had made herself into, to become this, to become immortal…

Corvo was not unfamiliar with the corrosive influence of the Void. He’d seen it in Granny Rags, had tried to deny it in Daud, and feared it just as much in himself and Emily. But Delilah, she had become someone, some _thing_ else entirely; not merely a receptacle of the Void, but Void itself, it seemed. She had made herself a part of it, burrowed inside its secrets and its darkness, and refused to let go. Corvo had seen darkness as he had perceived it in her eyes only once before — in the Outsider’s face itself. And there was no doubt they would be seeing him before the end, too.

The district had been blocked off towards the East, which was not surprising. Towards the West, and the Tower, there lay a trail of destruction. Dreary, dreary, dreary, Granny Rags’ song seemed to echo in Corvo’s memories, from so long ago. The air was cold, and it felt as though the sun hadn’t been out in months. Things looked even darker than during the Rat Plague. The city had been cast in a blueish hue, then, emanated by the whale oil and Walls of Light. Now, it had just become grey, worn, and withered.

Above them, one of the street speakers screeched to life. A witch began to sing.

> _After sparrows three times call,  
> _ _After gull does three times fall,  
> _ _Come maiden, mistress, mouse and hen,  
> _ _Come fisher, farmer, frog and wren._
> 
> _Once a king dressed in red,  
> _ _Warmed by flames on feather bed,  
> _ _While all the town starving cried,  
> _ _Chilled by winds, the Month of Ice._
> 
> _Eat them of frost, eat them of snow,  
> _ _The monarch decreed to them below,  
> _ _Upon a spike they perched his head,  
> _ _Cursed his name, burned his stead._
> 
> _Hush-a-bye, and don't be affright,  
> _ _Mama will sing through all the night,  
> _ _Many an hour before morning sun,  
> _ _Don't dream of horror yet to come._

The melody haunted them as they advanced up the road.

*

As they had in getting out of the city, they decided to split up after paying a visit to the black market shop. The Hatters had made the mistake of not guarding it around the clock, and so it was easy enough to raid the cache below the shop after some careful pickpocketing. Emily proved herself to be just as light-fingered as she had been when Daud had begun teaching her at fifteen. Now was not the time to ponder the scandalised expressions on the Empress’ advisors’ faces when they found out that their ruler was an accomplished thief and confidence trickster when she put her mind to it — but it so served to put Corvo’s mind at ease. He did not take the time to take himself to task for his relief, either.

While Corvo sought out the Hatters where they had holed up above the streets and went to see first what was left of the Boyle estate and, of course, poor Doctor Galvani’s ill-fated treasures, Emily and Daud looked in on the offices of the Dunwall Courier. The editor in chief, evidently, had survived; and had been publishing increasingly critical editorials over the past weeks, if the editions Corvo had seen lying around at the distillery were anything to go by. Apparently, Simon was making good on his promise. Corvo remembered how he’d cowered before them, half frightened out of his mind, half filled with disgust at the way the Watch officer had tried to coerce him into doing Ramsey’s bidding even that day; before Emily had appeared behind him and relieved him of his consciousness.

They rejoined him on the way up the boulevard, where they paused for a moment.

The way up to the Tower was lined with gallows, as though in a morbid honour guard. Nobles, residents of the district, strung up by their necks next to guards and officers of the City Watch. The bodies had deteriorated beyond recognition.

“Up there,” Daud pointed, towards a crumbling building half torn open. “Witch sentry. Wanna go around her?”

“There’s a shrine in that building.“ Emily added. “We could get to her from there.”

Corvo nodded. “Let’s go.”

*

Two Hatters later and a hidden door later, they stood before the shrine. One more time, Corvo thought. He stepped forward, and laid his left hand upon the runes, hissing under his touch.

The Outsider appeared in swirls of ash and Void, with his hands clasped behind his back. One might think he was smiling.

 _Welcome home._ He looked at each of them in turn. _Delilah's waiting for you. She's been sleeping badly for the last couple of weeks because that piece of her you're carrying around has been calling out, begging her to take it back. She feels the same craving, but she'll fight to the death to stop you from putting her spirit back where it belongs. You were careful in Karnaca. Let's see how that serves you in that tower where one of you was born, and where some of you fell in love not once, but twice. Delilah's got the throne and she's got your lover, Your Majesty, but now she's got a secret as well. Her soul, in your grasp. If anyone knew who wanted her harm, they could use it just as well as you._

“Does that mean you?” Daud grated.

_Me? Now what grudge would I bear Delilah?_

“You tell us.”

The Outsider almost smiled. _Good luck_. And with that, he vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) another track to listen to while we're on Dunwall's streets: [Carnage, by Paul Englishby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbI__slPf30).  
> b) pls don't ask me to write the time of the coup from Thomas and Geoff's perspective because it'll break my heart and because I'LL END UP DOING IT  
> c) the Whalers are so happy their dads are back :')  
> d) also I have a new twitter: [@grumblewhale](https://twitter.com/grumblewhale), follow me there if you want updates on ~~me crying my way through writing the final part~~ my writing process


	26. Chapter Twenty-Three — Oh Do They Speak For Us?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We take them, one by one. If Delilah cries for help, I want no-one coming to save her. I want her to know how it feels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, this is it. Not yet the final chapter, but the final target. Today, Delilah shall meet her fate.
> 
> Next week, this story will conclude, and then it's a short, short wait until **January** , when I'll start posting **Part 6: You Want It Darker** , the last instalment of this series and my version of Death of the Outsider.
> 
> There's another soppy AN in it for you next chapter, but I just want to say thank you to everyone who is, incredibly, still with me on this rollercoaster. It's been so long and we've been through so much, and to see so many of you still excited for this story is a wonderful gift. Thank you <3
> 
> Soundtrack: [Blood Red Roses, by C21FX](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n97TiKhg3FQ&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=89)

Returning to Dunwall Tower had long since begun to feel like coming home to Daud — but not so today. It was home, but rendered unrecognisable. The thick stench of never-banking fire hung in the air as the witches were burning everything that had ever been inside, and the sky above was aglow with it. Daud could smell the sickly sweet desiccation of grave hounds and blood briars all over the grounds. They would have to tread carefully.

“Are we going to clear everything out, or move past them?” he asked Emily as they surveyed the Tower grounds from the roof of the water lock. He looked over his shoulder, almost fearing the witches stationed below might hear them. The water lock was another unwelcome echo from the past: he had, fifteen years before, gone through the motions of planning the hit on Jessamine — in truth, to save her, but also because he had to have something to show Burrows’ agents when they’d asked how in the Void he’d propose to do it. He and three of his Whalers had come over this same water lock, and the plan, had it been much simpler, would have gone off without a hitch, he had no doubt. Had Corvo been unmarked, had Daud’s conscience not insisted on rearing its ugly, ugly head after decades of killing aristocrat after courtier after industrialist… it would have been so easy. So damned easy.

And had it been that easy, today he might have been able to tell Emily what it felt like to stab an Empress through the heart.

“I want them gone,” Emily returned through gritted teeth. “We take them, one by one. If Delilah cries for help, I want no-one coming to save her. I want her to know how it feels.”

Over Emily’s head, Daud and Corvo shared a glance.

Daud knew well enough that it was Alexi’s life hanging in the balance that had Emily pushing herself to the limit — and as strong as she had proven herself to be in the past months, even she had one. A point of no return, to be more precise. She had crossed that line once, in Jindosh’s damned mansion. It was up to her, and her alone, whether she would cross it once more tonight.

*

It took nearly half an hour to quietly, safely clear the entire Tower exterior of witches and their hounds. Creeping behind hedges and over low stone walls was not something Daud would have wanted to spend the rest of his life doing — but still it felt remarkably more sedate than all that skulking through mansions and houses full of servants and guards that he’d once been so good at. Still was, of course, he’d never stopped. It was just these days jobs ended in intelligence and blackmail, rather than blood seeping into expensive carpets and masters of the house strung up by their bedposts. Some of his contracts had had… peculiar conditions.

When they were done and Corvo emerged from the pump room, Emily had dirt streaked on her cheek and Daud’s hands were clammy even inside his gloves. How long had Dunwall been so cold? He was getting old now, if it crept into his bones so quickly. Months in Karnaca had made him soft.

“Where to next?” Corvo asked.

“The gazebo,” Emily answered.

Before, Daud had always let either Corvo or Emily go alone to pay their respects. He had only set foot in the gazebo once, shortly after his return from the Void. It wasn’t his place, he felt — he still felt. But now, Emily and Corvo were looking at him expectantly, and so he nodded, then followed, trying to pretend his stomach wasn’t clenching with nerves.

Once there, they found a painting Delilah had done of Luca, of all people; but that was not all. The ground before Jessamine’s tomb stone was covered in scrawling script — Delilah’s revenge on her sister, if that be true. Insults, vows to remake the world, to take back what was rightfully hers. Hateful words; hate that ran so deep it eclipsed even Delilah’s ambition.

Together, they stood before the plaque.

**JESSAMINE KALDWIN**

MOTHER TO EMILY

EMPRESS TO US ALL

“Goodbye, Mother,” Emily said quietly. “We won’t let you down. I promise.“

“No matter what happens today,” Corvo said, “she was proud of you. Always remember that.”

Emily smiled sadly, and in lieu of adding words that could never measure, Daud put his arm around her shoulders, holding her to him lightly. He remembered his final conversation with the Heart; remembered the day Jessamine had wrested from him a promise, an _oath_. He’d kept it, well as he knew how, or so he hoped. He was glad that, finally, she could be free from this wretched world.

They stayed for another moment.

*

Once they were inside the Tower, they had yet more cleaning up to do. They went inside through the Great Hall, past the elevator. Restoring power would alert the witches to an unwanted presence, and they could not risk tipping Delilah off. Corvo and Daud had been through this once before — and just like Brigmore, the old methods were the best.

At the top of the stairs, there sat a gruesome monument: an Overseer, captured, hung dead from a forked blood briar, bonecharms attached to his belt in mockery. They hissed in tune with the grave hound skulls at his feet — a warning, and a lure. Daud watched as Emily used Pull to reach for the charms, dragging them across the hall and into her hands. This reminded him: he dug into his pocket and gave her the one Thomas had handed him, instead.

“This will come in handy,” he whispered.

Emily nodded. “So will this.”

Before either Daud or Corvo could ask what, she had summoned the Void to her hand, and a shadow of herself into the Void. Daud was still amazed that something like this could be done, amazed and perturbed in the extreme; and knew from the set of Corvo’s shoulders that he felt the same. But Emily wasn’t finished yet. She attached a stun mine to her shadow’s body. Then, she hissed, perhaps more for his and Corvo’s benefit:

“Go. _Quietly_.”

The doppelgänger did as it was commanded, and reached right up the stairs behind one of the witches where she was patrolling. One down. Four to go. As Daud watched Emily keeping her hold on the Void with a balled-up fist and a stubborn set to her jaw to bind the witches that were close enough to their hiding spot to each other by magic, he only hoped the mirage would sustain itself long enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“Two Clockworks,” Corvo whispered when he appeared on the chandelier next to Daud. “One in the dining room, one in the library.”

A moment later, Emily joined them.

“We can’t risk setting them off,” she whispered.

“There’s bound to be one on the second floor as well,“ Daud reminded them. “Luca brought four. The last one is very likely downstairs, in the barracks.”

“Where do we go first?”

“Your quarters,” Emily decided. “We can get to Mother’s secret room from there, and then up into the safe room.”

Corvo looked doubtful, but Daud nodded. “It’s the shortest route,” he murmured.

“We need to get to the chapel as well,” Corvo argued. “Delilah prepared parts of her ritual there. I heard two of the witches talking about it.”

Daud sighed. “Fine. I go snoop around the chapel, you two head upstairs. I’ll follow when I’m done.”

“Alright,” Emily agreed, “but _don’t_ engage the Clockworks. You’ll have the whole house down.”

Daud smirked. “Wouldn’t you know, that’s exactly what your father said to me the day we broke into Brigmore.”

She sent him a speculative glance. “And what happened?“

Daud tilted his head. “We had the whole house down,” he returned. “But we also,“ he retrieved one of his own stun mines from his belt, “had these.”

“Daud—”

“I know what I’m doing,” he cut her off. “Now get.”

Before either Emily or Corvo could argue further, he’d transversed down the corridor and around the corner — coming face to face with one of Delilah’s statue sentries. Contrary to those at Brigmore, however, these didn’t appear to be painted flesh, but pure stone; same as the one Emily had described after her visit to the Royal Conservatory. These wouldn’t note his approach unless he woke them — which he had no intention of doing.

Shelves and cupboards barred passage into the hallway beyond, but Daud didn’t stop to dither. Instead, he transversed down, opened the door, and then straight up again onto the wooden awnings just below the ceiling. He and Corvo had gone over the Tower’s security and blind spots with a fine tooth comb over the years, but these awnings had never been done away with — they were too useful for Daud and the Whalers themselves. And now, they would be the witches’ undoing. Daud crept around the corner, stopping when he heard the telltale whirring of a Clockwork Soldier’s joints.

“One thousand rotations… reintroducing graphite.”

Naturally, Jindosh had sent only his latest models with Delilah. In Karnaca, Daud had discovered that the models sold to aristocrats and institutions — banks, treasuries, companies — had heads adorned with masks and smiling faces; making them at once uncanny and terrifying in what was likely an attempt to endear them to the humans who encountered them. Those Clockworks were blind in the back — but these, of course, could see in both directions.

Daud, not one to waste an opportunity, waited until it was turning in its spot, which it seemed, somewhat idiotically, programmed to do, and then transversed past the machine and the two witches, sitting at the long dinner table — in between their victims. Daud absently recognised the faces of notable citizens and courtiers. Despite the efforts of the Watch and Whalers, so many of Dunwall’s aristocracy had still come here, to attempt to curry favour with their new Empress, and had paid for their greed and lust for power with their lives. Even as he counted the cost, even as he knew the toll this would take on efforts to rebuild the city and its leadership, he could not help but sneer at their stupidity. To think that they hoped to outsmart a witch, hoped to be able to offer her anything that she could not simply _take_ from anyone and anywhere if she so desired. Even after Delilah had taken power and demonstrated her utter lack of interest in anything but absolute rule, they had believed themselves to be indispensable. It was difficult to feel pity for these people, who had so readily thrown themselves to the wolves in their foolish pursuit of influence. He was aware that some of them may have come to try and reason with Delilah, to persuade her to work with Parliament and the Watch, but his experience with the upper echelons of Dunwall society had taught him to be cynical about their motives. Emily had done her best to staff her Council with nobles she could trust and who were willing to push reform, but fifteen years were not enough to change an entire city from the inside.

Conveniently, half of the dining hall was barricaded as well, allowing him to drop down from the awning and sneak into the chapel undetected. Closing the ornate glass doors behind him, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, and then looked around.

“What on earth,” he whispered. There was a _tree_ in the middle of the chapel. It looked much like the one Daud remembered from Delilah’s banners at Brigmore long ago, as well as from witches’ drawings and spells all over Karnaca now. A book of spells lay on the work bench in front of him along with a journal, and an audiograph player on the other side. Deciding to read first, Daud leafed through the spells. Transformations… bindings… over the years following his return from the Void, he and Corvo had become quite proficient at reading the witches’ language, even if they were still unable to conduct any rituals themselves. They were not interested in spells, however, only in understanding their enemy’s motives. And those, from this, were clear enough in shape.

Delilah wanted to remake the world, harvesting Dunwall and its raw salt of the earth as clay and mortar. She would refurnish the Empire as she wanted it to be, and use the Void to do it.

Daud picked up one of the skulls that sat on the work table as would a pestle and mortar. Pigment, algae… everything he needed. He could only hope that the creation of the corrupted runes Delilah had fashioned for her ritual did not necessitate an incantation not documented in her notes. But as he heaped everything together and felt his Mark respond to the pull of magic, he was relieved to see that it worked without: glowing brightly, the pigments and weed were bound to the skull, wrapping around it like rotting bandages, encasing it in black. When it was done, Daud picked it up and stowed it on his belt. This would, hopefully, throw off the balance of whatever ritual Delilah had in mind.

This would do, he decided, and was about to leave, when something else caught his eye. A piece of rock, black as tar. It was stirring, as if by its own accord. He picked it up, and nearly hissed as it felt as though it were singing his hand even through the leather of his glove. But when he dropped it and removed it to check, there was no mark upon his skin. It had weighed lighter even than coal, but felt like stone. Like marble.

 

* * *

 

 

Corvo hadn’t been in Jessamine’s — now Emily’s — hidden study in years. It had never been his place, and it wasn’t now; but it was the only route, aside from the roof, through to Emily’s quarters and then the throne room. They ascended the winding staircase, arriving at the concealed entrance to the safe room. Emily opened the door with her ring and then pushed and shoved a little when the bookcase the door was hidden behind did not give way immediately.

“Is it wedged in by something?” Corvo whispered.

“I suppose,” Emily grunted. She gave one last push, and then the case finally slid free. She took a step inside, but then abruptly stopped, nearly making Corvo stumble back and down the stairs.

“What—” he began; but then he _saw_ what was wrong.

“It’s Ramsey,” Emily breathed. “Cast in stone. Just like… just like Alexi.“

“I’ll bet,“ Corvo murmured. Ramsey’s face was caught in terror, and his arm outstretched, as if trying to stop Delilah from casting the spell. Oh, Corvo had no doubt he had _begged_ to be spared.

“Here,” Emily picked something up from the floor and handed it to him over her shoulder. “Read this.”

“The poor fool,“ Corvo commented, but there was no real compassion in it. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Delilah had simply let Ramsey die in here. Then again, effectively she had — but he wouldn’t say so aloud. If this was the fate Delilah had chosen for Alexi… what hope was there now of saving her? He didn’t stop to pose that question to Emily.

Instead, he let her advance through the safe room, gathering what other supplies there were left and that they hadn’t taken with them during their escape; not that there was much. He watched as Emily bent to pick up Mrs Pilsen from where she’d been cast into the dirt by the bed tucked into one of the corners. Corvo knew that Emily, Wyman, and Alexi sometimes spent the night in here; to do their best to get away from Court and their many duties. He was about to speak, to offer some words of comfort, of reassurance, when Daud appeared at his side.

“I think I know what Delilah’s plans are.”

*

In the end, Corvo thought, he shouldn’t have been surprised at Emily’s request.

“Secure the rest of the Tower. Get the remaining witches down from the fortifications, and signal to the Whalers to move in. It’s time.“

“Time for what?” Corvo asked, but already knowing the answer.

“It’s time for me to face Delilah on my own.” Emily’s manner was grave, but determined. Corvo knew she did not mean it as a slight — he and Daud _had_ defeated Delilah when they’d faced her all those years ago, beaten her at her own game. But it had cost them. And this… Daud was right. This was not their fight. Not anymore. And as Corvo looked at his daughter, their daughter, grown and battle-worn and hardened, but still just and kind, he could not help but feel pride. She had conquered this. And she would conquer Delilah, too.

Without another word, he leaned forward, grasped her shoulder, and bent his head as though to touch his forehead to hers, but sparing her the cold touch of the mask. When he pulled back, she nodded, the corners of her mouth turned up. Then, she looked to Daud, who simply grasped her arm, squeezing once.

“Bury that witch,” was all he said. “Bury her well and true.“ Then, he retrieved what looked like a rune made of a skull from his belt. “This might help. And this.” He handed her a scroll wrapped around something Corvo couldn’t see. “For Alexi.“

Emily nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Then, before they could all fall prey to sentimentality, she turned, and started walking up the stairs towards her chambers. “Don’t wait for me.“

 

* * *

 

 

As Emily left Corvo and Daud behind and stepped into her chambers, she shuddered. To be back, in her Tower, in these familiar rooms…

She’d spent so much of her reign wishing the Crown were resting on someone’s else’s shoulders. She’d gone to Karnaca doubting whether she should really have it back, and finding plenty of evidence that she shouldn’t — but, more than that, immutable proof that she could not leave the throne to Delilah. She would die ere she let that witch have it.

But the trouble was that someone had indeed died. Kirin Jindosh had paid for his part in this treasonous plot against her with his life. The moment Emily had decided to kill to take back her throne, she had committed herself to a sequence of events that knew no other outcome than her head bearing the Crown once more. The moment Emily had decided to sacrifice a life to reinstate her claim, she had pledged herself to fulfilling a promise — to herself, to her people. To her mother. She had to believe, now, that this was the path she had to tread. Not because it would right the wrong she’d done. But to prevent further catastrophe from befalling those who were innocent. If there was one thing she’d learnt in Serkonos, it was that no-one was born into greatness, and no-one deserved the right to rule by birth alone. You had to earn it, every day, by serving the people who needed you.

She found her quarters much altered: her possessions looted, the walls defaced with witches’ spells and scribbles. There was a grave hound sleeping at the foot of her bed; which had been further desecrated by a faceless mannequin, bearing not her likeness but the mask of an Overseer. Corvo and Daud’s quarters had been no better off — in point of fact, had been worse. The witches had not merely scratched spells into the walls, but insults, too; calling Corvo ‘Empress killer’ and Daud his ‘loyal dog.’ Emily had no doubt that if Delilah were to be deposed and her ambitions exposed for the delusions they had always been, then Emily hoped that this, too, would be dismissed as the ravings of a woman bent on discrediting her enemy. Still, there was an idea that had taken root in Emily ever since speaking to Lucia Pastor and that she would have to speak to both Corvo and Daud about. Perhaps, she wondered, they might like to escape the contrivances and restrictions of Dunwall Court for a while, or perhaps forever. The office of the Royal Protector would endure in someone else’s hands.

Destroying the grave hounds one by one, Emily was relieved to find no more witches up here in her quarters — the whispers she had heard downstairs were true, then. Delilah had given orders not to be disturbed, and her coven obeyed, on pain of death or otherwise. Emily remembered more than one occasion at the Hound Pits pub; when Daud had told the Whalers he didn’t wish to be disturbed, and had then merely barked, not bitten, at that order being contravened at the earliest opportunity by any Whaler with urgent enough a report from the Flooded District.

Emily pursed her lips at the state of her study; temporary dorms, apparently, and good for little else. Rotting food was everywhere, as were empty bottles of wine. Emily did not give one Bastilian fig about the Tower’s wine cellar, but she knew it would take a long time until she could feel comfortable here again. Until she could feel _safe_. For months, her home had been the playground, the laughing stock of a coven of witches who she was sure were not all villains and thieves. But those that had done this, had smeared ‘WENCH’ on the wall of her study in crimson ink, they were the ones she would fear in years to come. They were the ones she would dream of losing her throne and her home to, once this was over.

Once she had arrived at the door to the throne room, Emily took a deep breath. She would have to make a choice. How to banish Delilah — _whether_ to banish her — and how to keep all her wits about her to make sure that she would never return. If she failed, Delilah would turn Dunwall into something else, something new. If what Daud had found at the chapel was any indication, she meant to turn the world and the Void inside out, to not only possess but exchange the world as it existed for one that she liked better. This, perhaps, explained why Delilah had made such little effort to make the people of Dunwall — or the Empire — love her. She would simply _create_ a world in which everyone did. And if they felt lacklustre in their praise and adulation, she would make them anew, or kill them. It would hurt her little to dispose of pawns she did not truly need.

Emily leaned around the corner to peer into the throne chamber. Delilah was alone, walking up and down in front of what looked to be a giant painting taking over half of the length of the room. Her throne was empty but encased by vines, and dotted all over the chamber, there were statues — encased in cold marble, just like Ramsey up in the safe room. At a distance, Emily could not make out everyone’s faces, but there was one statue she did not have to see in full light to recognise: Alexi.

Some of the statues scattered across the floor were caught in grovelling positions, some standing but reaching out as if pleading; again others had come as far as expressing their anger at their new Empress. But Alexi was different: she stood tall, her back ramrod straight, her arms at her sides, as if… as if shielding someone. Emily swallowed as she realised that, no matter what, Alexi would always protect the citizens of Dunwall. This was her city, too. And now, Emily owed it to her to repay her sacrifice — and save her.

“Cursed Daud… he walks this world and breathes still… but soon, none of this shall matter,” Emily heard Delilah’s voice, muttering to herself as she continued working on her painting. Daud had explained that, apparently, she needed more runes to be able to conduct the ritual. The one he’d given her was meant to disrupt the harmony of the spell, and to turn it against Delilah herself. It sang the same twisted songs as the corrupted bonecharms she had picked up in Karnaca. Daud and Corvo had warned her of the price one paid for their powers, and she had no doubt of the destructive magic of the rune she held now. It was a _skull_ , wrapped in what might be tar just as well as Void itself.

As Emily ventured closer, along the side of the room, until she was behind Delilah and could see her latest masterpiece, the Heart called itself to her hand.

_She feeds on the cracks in the world… this hollow shell with my face. Return me, and you shall have your vengeance… or choke on it._

Emily took a moment to force air back into her lungs, her throat tight. The Heart warmed in her palm, as if it knew — and it did. The spirit inside it recognised the vessel it had been torn out of. Remembering how to call it forth, Emily stretched out her hand, and squeezed, perhaps none too gently. Unleashed, Delilah’s spirit dragged itself out of it, through the air, and latched onto Delilah, tearing into her as though to possess her. Emily spared a thought for whether this was what her own possession at Delilah’s hands might have looked like, fifteen years ago, if Daud and Corvo hadn’t prevented it.

Delilah, staggering, hissed and cursed as her soul drove back into her.

“My spirit returns,“ she whispered. “Very well, little sparrow.” She looked to where Emily had stumbled back between the pillars. “Into the canvas, and I will show you my vision.” With that, she turned, and floating up into the air, she revealed the canvas for what it was: a rift between this world and the Void. Controlled, a portal, but a tear between worlds nonetheless. She disappeared, leaving Emily to follow.

But before she could, she watched as the Heart came apart in her grasp, blackened wisps sliding through her fingers and being carried away on the air. This was what remained, then, of her mother’s heart. Ash and memories.

Emily turned towards the throne — her throne. She retrieved the corrupted rune from her belt and weighed it in her hand.

*

Stepping through the painting, she found herself in the Void, only not quite. It was as though Delilah had used the Void itself to build the future that she wanted. It was the top of Dunwall Tower, but Delilah’s throne sat outside, opposite Emily’s own, with the Wrenhaven behind her; and the space around her was filled with people, all standing and applauding her, and only her.

‘Watch out for her sentinels,’ Daud had warned her. On the way over from Karnaca, Emily had finally received a more detailed retelling of the battle in the Void. Daud and Corvo, armed to the teeth, against half a dozen of Delilah’s own doppelgänger statues. Emily scanned the crowds, spotting at least two of them, and found her suspicions confirmed when the dark marble they seemed to be made of changed before her eyes — painted flesh. Emily was not stupid enough to be lured in by the doppelgänger sitting on the throne itself.

To get a better vantage point, Emily reached across and towards the right parapet, crouching and sneaking along until she found the statue stationed there. Getting behind her and hoping that none of the others had line of sight on her, she decided to trust her instincts. If they could be killed, they could be incapacitated, she reasoned — and took Delilah’s sentinel into a chokehold. Quickly enough, the mimicry of a body went slack in her grip. Emily searched it for anything she might use, but found nothing in terms of charms or runes she might destroy.

Staying low, she moved towards the banister and peered over. The real Delilah would hardly leave herself vulnerable by blending in with the ‘crowd,’ but she had to be here somewhere, sustaining the spell. Preferably, Emily reasoned, somewhere up high and out of the way. That was how she would do it, at least.

Using her spy glass, she observed the statues for a moment longer, watching them change and trying to ignore the uncanny feeling it gave her. Then, she looked to the left, and up. There was a massive Void rock looming over the entrance through the rift. Emily focused further, and recognised a very distinct blueish hue emanating from above.

“Got you, pretender,” Emily whispered.

Emily dispensed with chasing down the replicas — they would disappear once the caster of the spell was taken out of the game. She blinked down again and, to be safe, climbed the rock without using her powers; just in case Delilah might be able to sense her near if she reached for the Void. Soon enough, she pulled herself up behind Delilah, who stood, her arms wide, casting the spell and sustaining it with apparent ease. Emily had to marvel at the extent of her powers even as they frightened — and threatened — her.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she stepped up behind the witch. Loathe to give her even a moment’s chance, she grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her around, her blade against her throat in an instant. Of course, Delilah was arrogant enough to underestimate her even now — she barely struggled. Instead, she smiled at her, indulgently.

“Emily… would you really kill your own aunt?”

Emily wanted to bare her teeth, to snarl, but she schooled her features into the same blank mask she’d seen on Daud’s face so often; and had come to understand so much better in recent weeks.

“I killed Jindosh, for standing in my way,” she reminded her.

“With a shot to the heart. I will not be so easy.”

“I hope not.” She thought of the rune, affixed to the throne. This could be over so quickly. So neatly. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword.

“See, little Emily… you don’t have the heart to kill me, little sparrow. Too sweet. Too kind.” Delilah smiled still, so certain of her victory.

“I am kind because I _choose_ to be,” Emily hissed, feeling that remembered rage bubbling up inside her. “I _chose_ to be kind when I was ten years old; when my mother was murdered in front of me, when I watched my father suffer and an assassin render onto himself a debt that could never be paid. I watched as you wrenched from my father the only other person he’s ever loved as much as her. That was when I decided to be kind above all else, because the world would never be. But I was only fourteen when I beat a man senseless with a part of railroad because he wanted to kill me for what I was born into. Daud told me once, good men don’t need rules, and one day I’d understand why he has so many. Perhaps now, I do. Perhaps Jindosh did, as well.”

She pressed her steel closer against Delilah’s throat, hard enough to draw blood. From the corner of her eye, she saw Delilah’s left hand emit a faint glow, even though she could not see the Mark itself. But Delilah stayed where she was.

“How,” Delilah growled, and Emily smirked at her. The bonecharm that Daud had given her was doing its work, it seemed.

“Stuck?” she asked plainly, and a part of her relished as fear entered Delilah’s eyes. She began scrabbling at Emily’s arm, who tightened her hold on the back of the witch’s neck. She had a decision to make. For Delilah, this was death or banishment. Either way, she’d go back to the Void, forever. Or at least, until the next attempt at resurrection. Emily gritted her teeth as she felt terrible certainty grip her heart like a vice. The magnitude of what Delilah was planning, the extent of her power… it dwarfed the scheme she had once woven, to possess a child. Now, she wanted the world, and there was only one to stop her now.

Corvo and Daud had tried before, so long ago. They had chosen honour over blood.

It was not a choice Emily could afford to make. Not today. Today, she had to be the one to shield them, shield her people, from ever having to make this decision again. To dishonour herself this day, and to make amends for it for the rest of her life.

“I am sorry, for what was done to you,” she told Delilah quietly, who was still trying to get away and growing increasingly drowsy and dizzy from the effects of the bonecharm in such close proximity to the wearer. “I’m sorry you were cast out and left behind. But I am not my mother. And you cannot be the burden of my reign.“

“No! You wouldn’t _dare!_ ” Panic distorted Delilah’s voice even worse than the Void.

“Goodbye, Delilah. Long live the Empress.“

*

She returned to the the throne room alone, as the rift closed behind her. Briefly, she wondered if she should fall to her knees. Instead, she kept marching on.

“Alexi.” She touched her lover’s cheek, dropping the paper holding the incantation Daud had translated for her, and the sliver of Void rock to the ground. “Alexi, come back to me.”

Slowly, before her eyes, Void gave way to skin, and Alexi was returned to her.

“Emily,” she murmured weakly, practically falling into her.

Pressing her lips into her hair and hiding her bloodied hands behind her nightingale’s back, Emily knew that nothing would be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I teared up so often while editing this... knife family at the gazebo, TOGETHER. the dads handing over the final fight to Emily. the Heart, gone forever-forever. ash and memories.  
> b) It didn't take that long for me to decide that Delilah was going to die, this time. Emily teeters on the edge of High Chaos in a way the dads never did because they were already so _tired_ when they started. Emily has all that rage, screwed up inside her, and her kindness is a choice. She's going to need more rules, after this.  
>  c) ALEXI IS ALIVE!!!  
> d) that painting is going to get burnt to ash and dust before the week is out. the Whalers are going to have great fun adding it to the bonfire outside.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Four — Where Do All These Highways Go, Now That We Are Free?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In Dunwall, with the death of Delilah Copperspoon, her coven lost its power and their short-lived coup came to an end. The rightful Empress returned to the throne and began extinguishing the fires across her city. So it was that Emily the Just – Emily the Clever – would fulfil her destiny, ruling for decades over a mended Empire, with Daud and Corvo Attano's support from the South._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE END! Well, not quite yet, but this is the final chapter of Stories of the Street. Oh my god!!  
> I'm super looking forward to everyone's reactions, because I think the ending will set the tone for what's to come; but in a sense this is an ending. For Corvo and Daud, this is the last chapter from their point of view. They'll still be around, of course, but _You Want It Darker_ will feature a new protagonist and a new love story; and for our idiot boys, this is the end of an era. We've come from a time when they knew nothing about each other, to this, the aftermath of a long, long adventure that they conquered and survived together with their children, and that they get to close with quasi-retirement.
> 
> And for you, you incorrigible lot, this has been a long journey, too. Not just this part of the series, but ALL OF IT. I'm 12k into Part 6 and we're coming up on the two year anniversary of me having really bad laryngitis and being sick and daft enough to actually start working on this AU, AND MY MIND BOGGLES. I'm still here, you're still here, some of you since the very first chapter; and without all of you, this wouldn't have ever gotten written to this point. (See, it's all your fault!!)
> 
> Soundtrack: [Avalanche, by Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3f0ADuVJhYQ&index=90&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> Credit song: [Vengeance, by Zack Hemsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lhv_yFMuwxs&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=91).

Dunwall

In the end, it took months for the city — the Empire — to remember what had once passed for normal. And in Dunwall, ‘normal’ was still a far cry from when the cows came home.

Emily had watched Delilah die, in the Void, clinging to life with one, two, three, four rattling breaths even as it slipped through her fingers. She’d left her body behind, to be locked inside her own damned painting forever; her unmoving form lying in front of her pretend throne, her blood the darkest crimson. Just as the artist had requested.

Then, she’d destroyed all the runes around her throne, and made plans then and there to have the Whalers set fire to everything in the chapel. They’d enjoy that. For a moment, she’d wondered whether she should keep the painting — not as a memento, above her throne, but somewhere it would never see the sun, and no deranged witch could go to worship. But then, she’d shaken her head. Holding on to things that ought not to be meddled with brought ruin, to everyone. The painting, The World As It Should Be, Delilah’s final masterpiece: would be destroyed, and without any ceremony that might lend her manner credence.

She’d revived Alexi, and kissed her, knowing what she’d done would change her forever. Together, they’d gone to find Corvo and Daud, who had called in the Whalers from the rooftops. They’d seen what Alexi hadn’t, yet, and understood.

“Where’s Delilah?” Alexi asked eventually, leaning heavily on Corvo while Daud helped Emily, bent over the tiny sink, wash off the blood that wasn’t her own.

“The witch is dead,“ Daud rumbled when Emily’s throat was too tight to speak, “one way or another.“

“I did it like you taught me,” Emily whispered while Corvo helped Alexi to sit. “Just couldn’t get it as clean.”

Daud had looked her in the eye for a long moment, then leaned forward to drop a paternal kiss on her forehead, so at odds with the workmanlike way he’d been scrubbing to clean the grooves of her skin.

“You did what you had to,” he whispered back. “Remember what I told you.”

Emily wondered if perhaps he saw some of himself in her, or something else even he might never understand. She wondered if he regretted raising her as he had.

She didn’t. Not this time.

*

Slowly, the city began to rebuild. Emily and Daud did their best to return as many of Delilah’s victims to the living world, but many of them were too far gone — including Ramsey, who Corvo darkly suggested they might keep in the throne room, as a reminder to anyone who dared betray their Empress. They didn’t, of course; except by the glance Daud sent her, Emily knew there was no ‘of course’ about it. Not anymore. It was to his and Corvo’s credit that they did not look at her differently, but they _knew_ what she’d done. They knew what she’d chosen.

So did Alexi and Wyman, and Emily counted her blessings that their hearts ached for _her_. They’d suspected the truth about Jindosh, and they’d seen too much in trying to keep Dunwall from falling into ruin to expect that this Coup could be resolved without bloodshed.

Still, it felt like a miracle to Emily when she lay, safely encircled in Wyman’s arms, in bed one night — their own bed, not the rickety one in the safe room, not a narrow cot on board of a ship. And it felt more like a miracle when she thought of the words she’d been planning on saying for so long. Before all this, before the Coup, before her life had been torn asunder _again_.

“I love you,” she told Wyman then. She paused, gathering the courage. “And I would ask, if you’ll have us, will you marry us? Me, and Alexi?”

Wyman’s eyes sought hers, knowing. “Marry you, my loves?”

“Yes,” Emily felt her voice begin to break. “For the both of you to make me your wife, not your Empress. For me, so I'll never have to choose a consort.”

Wyman raised a hand to brush a strand of her behind her ear, and Emily leaned into the touch, not daring to close her eyes. Wyman smiled. “And for your mother?”

Emily felt tears enter her eyes, relief and mourning mingling together; for a happiness her mother would now never know she could feel. Wyman brushed Emily’s cheek with their knuckles, gently catching a few stray tears.

“I will marry you. I love you and Alexi, and your strange family, not your throne. We will be your consorts in all that matters, and do not fret. I have a title of my own, and Alexi is a well-respected Captain of the Watch.”

“People will talk,” Emily said with a watery smile. “They’ll say it’s because you’re not good enough, or because I’m—”

“People always talk,” Wyman reminded her. “They don’t know how else to pass the time.” They stopped, and smiled. "And I suppose we should ask Alexi to marry _us_ when she comes back from her patrol.”

Emily grinned back at them. They better had.

It was happiness she did not deserve. But it was the price she demanded for the rift torn into her soul. And perhaps, one day, it might heal.

 

* * *

 

 

Karnaca

As Corvo woke to the morning sun filtering in through curtains gently blowing in the breeze, for a moment he believed it was another dream. But then the pleasant weight on his chest shifted, and he looked down to find Daud’s head pillowed on his sternum, burrowing closer into him. Their legs were tangled, Daud’s feet hanging off the bed, and Corvo thought his heart might burst, with happiness and mirth.

For a while after Delilah’s defeat, Corvo had feared Emily might ask him to become Duke of Serkonos. There’d been things she’d said, about the line of succession and a man of the people being more worthy of the ducal throne. Corvo did not doubt that there would have been some sense in it, to establish an unbreakable connection in the wake of Delilah’s treachery and lies. But there was a better way, Emily had revealed one day.

Emily had been… different, for a while, after that day. She’d been back on the throne by the Month of Ice, and the anniversary of her own coronation had marked the beginning of the efforts to rebuild Dunwall. But the joy in her eyes had been dimmed for the blood debt she’d taken on in the wrenching act it had taken to save her people. Blood over honour did little to serve one’s heart, Corvo knew. He knew Emily likely only saw the times he hadn’t, but he too had made that choice. So had Daud, had made a living of it — before Jessamine, before the Void. No, Delilah had not received a trial, but Corvo doubted she would have deserved one. Burrows, at the end, had done nothing but whimper for forgiveness.

Months later, now, Corvo was not Duke — but he did serve the people of Karnaca, as part of the new and old Duke’s council. Armando would continue his role as Duke Luca Abele until he died, or a suitable replacement was found. There were one or two lines of House Abele left, and even if they proved wanting, an interregnum led by the People’s Council would leave Serkonos far less open to misery.

So he and Daud had finally fulfilled a wish neither of them had ever quite dared to articulate save for whispered moments under the covers, in quiet murmurs of days future and past. They had moved to Serkonos, to an apartment near the Palace, from where they could see Shindaerey Peak and the sun setting over the bay. Martha Cottings had joined them on Emily’s orders, as their security detail. They had duties, but they were far more manageable than the offices of Royal Protector and Spymaster combined. Leaving that role behind had been the hardest for Corvo — leaving his _daughter_ behind, even if it was to the care of her loved ones and such skilled protectors as Rinaldo, who had been the logical choice as her new bodyguard, and Thomas, who was now Spymaster in a far less conspicuous capacity, and with Geoff Curnow at his side to ensure that the City Watch remained free of traitors, this time.

It was strange, to be back home. For good. To be so far away from Emily, from the city where Corvo had met his fate so long ago, and the two greatest loves of his life. It felt strange to live where he could not see the gazebo from their window, but he knew that he and Daud both carried Jessamine with them in their hearts. He remembered her words from the night Daud had returned from the Void:

_Fear not, Corvo, for as long as there is someone I care for in this world I will not be forgotten._

And indeed she wouldn’t.

So they did their best to adjust, and it wasn’t always easy. The nights were still strange, and sometimes they each woke to the other’s quiet stare; for their hands to meet and their fingers to entwine to chase the dreams away. But the work they had here was important, it was fulfilling. He knew the time had come for him to relinquish his duties as Lord Protector. Defeating the Coup had taken more out of him than he’d care to admit. Besides, even as he worried, he could not help but relish knowing that he was away from the prying eyes of Court. The gossip, the jibes, the unveiled condescension whenever he spoke.

And it was a good thing, too, that here there were no maids to evade in the mornings. He could draw Daud closer as he stirred and woke, frame his face with his hands and tilt his head up into a kiss that started slow and deepened as Daud threw off the vestiges of sleep and crawled up to settle atop Corvo, pinning him to the bed with his bulk, as if to make sure that this was truly the slow, quiet morning they had been promised. They made love that way, slowly and surely, with years of experience guiding their hands. Daud knew how to make Corvo melt into his touch just as he knew how to get himself bent over a desk, if he pushed it, and if Corvo felt limber enough.

Later, over breakfast, Corvo realised he’d forgotten his coffee mug and stole Daud’s, instead, who noticed, of course he did, but declined to look up from his newspaper, annoying himself with the morning reports instead, in preparation of the day ahead of them. Daud did not hold an official position on the Council, even if he regularly attended gatherings of the inner circle — which did not include Paolo and Byrne. The former wouldn’t have minded, Corvo thought sardonically, but common sense demanded that Byrne be kept in the dark. It was the only concession to secrecy they had been able to wring from Armando in this: the new Duke demanded openness. Daud still did his best to keep to the shadows, just enough. It was the life he’d chosen a long time ago, and it would never quite leave him; even as the world forgot his face a little more each day. But the people of Karnaca knew that Corvo Attano did not live alone, and they did not particularly seem to care.

*

Today, they were expected at the Palace to speak with the Duke and his inner circle, consisting of Aramis, Lucia Pastor, and Hypatia, when she had the time to spare. Her new practice in the Dust District was full to burst almost every day, but she hoped to have stemmed the worst of the effects of Luca’s interference in the silver mines’ operations.

Daud stood at his desk in the study, which they shared as they did all things these days, save for a wardrobe, and gathered the papers they’d need. Letters from Dunwall, too — from Curnow and from Thomas, written separately and together; from Rinaldo. Both Corvo and Daud trusted him implicitly, he’d been the right and logical choice as Royal Protector. Galia had been appointed as his second, and together they couldn’t have scandalised Court more, even now. Two foreigners, unapologetically so in their appearance and their voice; and doing their duty so steadfastly and stoically that no matter how hard Dunwall’s nobility might try, there was no finding fault in them. They were the best, second only to Daud and Corvo themselves. Fleet, together with Alexi, led the Tower Watch, and Curnow and Thomas held tight reins on the City. Remaining traitors, if they hadn’t deserted, had been found and put on trial for treason. Emily’s bloodlust had not gone so far as to have them all executed, but there had been one or two to be made an example of. Even as Daud knew Corvo worried, for and about their daughter, he could not imagine himself deciding differently, in her position.

He’d just tugged on his gloves when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Corvo called from across the hall. Daud thought for a moment. It couldn’t be Cottings, she was out on assignment in the Dust District, and likely wouldn’t return until the next day. “Hello,” Daud heard Corvo say, surprise colouring his voice. “Come in.”

Curious, Daud turned around — and found an old acquaintance entering the study, followed by Corvo, who shot Daud a questioning look over her shoulder. They hadn’t heard from her in a while —she had left Dunwall shortly after Emily had taken back the throne. Corvoand Daud had made the journey back to Karnaca on board of a ship of the Crown, much as they might have preferred a more familiar vessel. Daud looked back at her, and realised what might have startled Corvo into surprise at seeing her. She was wearing new clothes: a red leather jacket, dark pants that were obviously tailored, and new, rather than her faded and patched clothing from before. Ill-fitting they’d been, on top of it, a far cry from the clothes all the Whalers had worn — not all of them tailored, of course, but at least altered to allow for range of movement during combat. This was a sharp tack closer to that, and what was more: Daud felt some shock when he saw the Whaler blade on her belt.

He straightened up, reports on the rebuilding progress temporarily forgotten. He knew better than to say anything.

Their guest stepped into the doorway, hands on her hips. She looked somewhat plagued by nerves, but no matter what, he’d never known her to shrink from a challenge — especially ones she had set herself.

“Heard you were looking for agents.“

Daud exchanged another glance with Corvo, deciding to play along.

“We are.“ He paused. “Name of the applicant?“

She straightened her shoulders.

“Billie Lurk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot: HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!


End file.
